


Only Friend

by CaptainOzone



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Humor, Arthur Finds Out, Arthur Pendragon Is King, Arthur-centric, BAMF Merlin, Bromance, Dawn of the Golden Age, Episode: s04e12-13 The Sword in the Stone, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Magic Revealed, Minor Character Death, POV Arthur, Reveal, Reveal AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-12 11:58:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 60,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4478510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainOzone/pseuds/CaptainOzone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Arthur went after Merlin in the tunnels outside of Ealdor earlier? What would he think of the confrontation between him and Agravaine? And how will he deal with the revelation as they retake Camelot? 4x13 AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scene I: In the Caves

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on FF.net, 01/12/2012 to 08/19/2012

While the torchlight flickered across the narrow cavern walls, the only sounds pervading the eerie silence were the light snaps of the flames and their soft footsteps, and the faint plops from water droplets dripping from the stalagmites and stalactites had long accompanied the wary, tired group as they marched through the tunnels just outside of Ealdor.

Arthur, not even bothering to care where Merlin was leading them along the twisting, confusing route, was now at the tail end of the party, musing hopelessly to himself and wallowing in a pit of shadows darker than that of the caves they were in.

He always managed to find himself in these kinds of situations, didn't he? Betrayed. Lost. Fearful for the lives and future of his people and friends. Running for his life with a rag-tag team—compromised of his deceptively idiotic manservant, two smugglers, one scornful and reluctant and the other surprisingly loyal, and a woman who brought him both irrepressible joy and unmanageable pain—a team which was his only hope in reclaiming what he had shamefully lost…

There were so many parallels he could draw between this situation and the one he had experienced over a year ago that he felt an overpowering and nauseating sense of déjà vu. The betrayal by Agravaine cut just as deeply as Morgana's had when she and Morgause first overtook Camelot; the desperate hopelessness of their predicament was just as trying, just as emotionally draining, just as tragic and horrible. Merlin was being just as inspiringly wise, interminably brave, and unwaveringly supportive. There were just as many undeniable odds and reasons to lose all hope.

But there _was_ something different this time: the people were at the mercy of Morgana, driven from their homes and in hiding, or _dead_ … because of _him_ and him alone.

He was fleeing from his own kingdom—a kingdom he _failed_ to protect—and deserting the people to Morgana and Helios…

He did not deserve to be their protector or their King. He did not deserve their loyalty, their love, or their trust. He did not deserve the encouragement and the looks of strength, determination, and hope that Gwen and Merlin had been constantly sending him over the course of their journey nor the budding faithfulness of Isolde.

Tristan's thinly veiled insults and accusations of him, on the other hand, were nothing less than true. Every one of them stabbed at him like the blade of a dagger, but he knew that each wound was well deserved.

Self-doubt whirled about in his mind, and guilt gripped his heart. He should have been there; he should have fought and stood by Camelot in her time of need. He understood Merlin's hasty decision and the questionable actions he took to get him out of the castle—he was wounded, and there was little hope that _any_ of them could change the course of the battle. Actually, a part of him was _grateful_ that the idiot had been so resourceful and creative in evading their attackers, but that did not banish any of the dark poison of doubt sliding and squirming into his very core.

At the thought of Merlin, a sudden, golden warmth made his chest swell, and it allowed him to briefly overcome the darkness he was drowning in. The image of the lanky young man's compassionate and stubborn eyes shone behind Arthur's eyelids, and his soft, sure assurances and the passionate confidence of his advice rang in his ears.

Sometimes, he wondered what it was that Merlin saw in him, what it was that made him so loyal, so keen to die and risk everything for him, what it was that made him… _Merlin_.

Arthur was royalty; he was used to having people bow before him and obey his will. His subjects were bound to him in this way. Camelot itself was formed on intense morals of loyalty, responsibility to duty, chivalry, and the knights and subjects were all based around such morals. All of his life, he had learned, acted, and grew to fit and epitomize those beliefs to the best of his ability and character. His father had never expected anything less than those high values to shine from his son and his men, after all.

But Merlin was different.

Hell, no _servant_ had _ever_ been trusted enough or brave enough to follow him or any other Knight into battle. Servants couldn't defend themselves, seeing as their job is to clean, sew, and courtesy or bow (not that Merlin ever showed him that amount of respect anyway). They were a _liability_ if they were ever forced out onto the field, but Merlin…

Merlin was anything but weak. Though the servant was nearly useless with a sword, he had proved to him only days before that he was an astoundingly damn good shot with a crossbow, and Arthur had recently noticed how _fast_ the clumsy fool could move when he wasn't tripping over his feet. He was courageous and kept his head in the face of danger. He was dependable, selfless, resourceful, and even—when he wasn't being a complete idiot, that is— _smart_.

It had always seemed so natural and so _right_ for Merlin to be at his side that only now did he realize how strange and unconventional it was. Merlin, he suddenly remembered with shock, hadn't even been born in Camelot, and he had never _asked_ for the job to become Arthur's servant.

Yet, there he was, with his unique, deep eyes, his sunny, goofy smile, and all of his annoying and endearing quirks and mannerisms, with his wicked humor and sharp tongue, with his notorious habit for discovering every plot against the kingdom and managing to be the one to know how to fix every wrong, and most importantly, with all of the qualities that Arthur admired in a man. Merlin had _always_ been there.

Unbidden, the memory of the rock-fall in which he thought he lost Merlin forever and then the memory of his frosty, pale, stone-cold face when the Dorocha touched him flashed across Arthur's mind, and he shuddered.

Never again.

Arthur raised his eyes from the rocky tunnel floor to contemplate the back of Merlin's raven, tousle-haired head, which bobbed rhythmically with his familiar, gawky gait at the head of their line. He found himself feeling a rush of affection for the young man.

Despite his peasant status, Merlin was the noblest man Arthur knew. He might make mistakes, he might insult and tease him to no end, he might irritate him to distraction, but there was no one Arthur trusted more, and there was no one Arthur preferred to have at his side. Agravaine's betrayal had proved that to him once and for all; there was no hiding or denying it any longer.

There was something _more_ there. It wasn't loyalty and duty alone that made Merlin remain at his side through the horrible events and dangerous missions, through the days dealing with his supercilious mockery and bad temper, and Arthur felt that he had known for a long time now…No, what drove Merlin was something far more precious and binding: friendship.

Yes, a servant was the King's friend, and even after all that he had put the thin young man through, it was a miracle that Merlin considered him a friend at all in return.

What kind of friend was he anyway? Merlin _knew_ —well, he insisted that he and Gaius _suspected,_ but Arthur knew the truth—that Agravaine was betraying him (sometimes, he even had reason to believe that Merlin had known of Morgana's betrayal far before he had), but what did Arthur do? Time and time again, he scoffed at his wisdom, ignored his advice, and yelled at him to leave him be. He pushed Merlin away, growling and fuming with intense infuriation at the idiot who just had to stick his nose into everything, and had instead embraced his uncle, who turned out to be the man working against him and everything he stood for. Then there were all the times Merlin was both physically and emotionally hurt because of him and his mistakes….

Not for one moment did Merlin blame Arthur. Gwen also—well, he'd rather not think about her.

He still loved her. Oh gods, did he love her! But, with an image of Lancelot kissing her and her tear-streaked face reappearing in his mind, he'd remember what it was that prevented them from being husband and wife, and he had to push away the undeniable love and the unbearable pain as they battled for dominance.

When he awoke to see her in Ealdor…it hadn't mattered. For one blissful moment, it was as though nothing had happened, but he could not deny the fact that it _did_ happen. Nothing could change that, but then again, nothing could change what he felt for her.

They were both here with him: Merlin and Gwen. The two people he loved most—the ones who tugged at his heartstrings more than any other, the ones he'd die a thousand times over for, the ones he owed the most to—were the ones that were risking their lives for _him_ and were the ones he couldn't live without.

He was unworthy of them. Merlin, the best friend he could ever hope for, and Gwen, the love of his life… He was failing them just as miserably as he had failed his people.

Which brought him to a full circle: how in _hell_ were they going to get out of this mess?

Suddenly, Arthur was violently jerked from his dark pool of thoughts by a gasp from either Isolde or Gwen, and each of them, hearing the echoes from the footfalls of multiple pairs of boots behind them, froze and whirled to face the direction they had come from.

They were coming.

With a pounding heart and a twinge of fear, Arthur said gruffly to Merlin, "I thought you said we lost them."

"I thought I had."

If it had been any other time, Arthur might have had one or two sarcastic comments; he might have rolled his eyes at Merlin's uselessness, but the tone of surety in his manservant's low voice, paired with the approaching danger, ridded him of any such silly pleasure. Instead, his mind scrambled for a hold on an idea, any idea, to get them all out of there safely.

"It won't take long for them to catch us," Tristan growled in a whisper.

Arthur felt hope draining from him, but immediately, Merlin offered, "I'll go back."

The fugitive King looked at Merlin, who was determinately striding forward. The forcefulness of his lanky manservant's assertion left him reeling with shock, and the speed at which events were moving as well as the speed of Merlin's second selfless choice to try to lose their followers left him slightly disoriented. "What're _you_ going to do?"

Merlin's reply was instant, simple, and serious. "Create a diversion."

Arthur put a hand out to stop him. "That's too risky," he immediately protested, his chest lurching. _Too many things could go awry._ His eyes flashed nervously back down the tunnels.

"I know these tunnels and Agravaine doesn't," Merlin said quickly.

For some odd reason, Arthur didn't take that statement as a consolation.

Thrusting his torch into his King's gloved hands, Merlin commanded, "You keep _going_."

"Merlin," Arthur began. He paused suddenly, studying his friend's face vigilantly. Those stormy blue eyes held nothing but absolute determination, conviction, and hardened stubborn will, and as Merlin's eyes, now glinting with a small curiosity at Arthur's concerned tone and long hesitation, skipped around his King's face, Arthur prevented himself from sighing.

Understanding that there was no talking the pig-headed servant out of his idea, and with a little of his old humor, which hid his true concern, returning to him, Arthur finally ordered, "Don't do anything stupid."

Merlin's unyielding eyes flashed towards the approaching noises. Eyebrows suddenly quirking, a lopsided, impish grin spread across his face, and he asked both innocently and mischievously, "Me?"

Arthur watched helplessly and worriedly as Merlin dashed off, his shadow disappearing around a turn in the tunnel after its master.

"C'mon, Arthur," Isolde said softly.

Seeing that the King had neither moved nor responded, Tristan whispered, "What're you doing?"

Arthur continued to stare at where he last saw Merlin's shadow. "Merlin," he repeated hoarsely.

"He knows the tunnels; he'll find his way," Tristan tried to say.

Before Tristan had even finished his statement, Arthur was moving around him. "I'm going after him," Arthur said in a voice that suggested no argument was to be made.

He didn't go more than a few steps before Tristan said under his breath, "For a servant?"

A flicker of rage swept through Arthur, and he faltered, nearly ready to turn around and punch Tristan to the floor for thinking so condescendingly of Merlin, who was, once again, selflessly trying to make their trackers lose their trail so that they might escape unnoticed and untried.

But after hearing Gwen's gentle voice say with pride, "You're wrong about him", he continued on rapidly, realizing that he had misinterpreted Tristan's question.

The smuggler had not been questioning the fact that he was going after _a servant,_ but the fact he was going after Merlin _at all_. Strangely enough, this did not bother him nearly half as much as his previous interpretation did, and it was forgotten in an instant.

Merlin was more than a servant. He was an idiot, and if he didn't catch up with him soon, Arthur had the feeling that he would do something far more than stupid.

He wasn't wrong.

Abruptly, from a short distance away, he heard a loud, obnoxious, and overtly cheerful shout of: "OH, HELLO!"

Arthur recoiled at the volume of Merlin's voice, and cursing under his breath, he backtracked himself into a dead-end and snuffed out the flame of his torch in the hopes that he wouldn't get in Merlin's way or unnecessarily distract him as he led the group of Southrons on a chase through the twisting passages.

Sliding behind a convenient, jutting boulder just outside of the room formed by the dead-end, Arthur hid and grasped at the hilt of his sword, ready to listen for or possibly even see where Merlin led the tracking party and ready to jump into action if he perceived that he was in great danger.

Almost immediately, as usually expected of Merlin's more stupid ideas, everything went terribly wrong.

With firelight leaping violently behind him, Merlin sprinted into the same room he was hiding outside of, and he skidded to a stop in front of the wall blocking further access into the tunnels.

Arthur's heart fell to his knees as Merlin frantically scanned the dead-end wall and as he sensed a group of six men pass his hideout. The worry sitting in his chest was so deep and large that he felt as though he were going to be sick. With half-mad fantasies of slaying the traitors, he itched to reveal himself and to support Merlin against his uncle and nearly half a dozen soldiers, but the logical hunter and defender in him meticulously calmed his frantic thoughts.

He would do Merlin no good if he lost the element of surprise, and he made himself promise he would not move unless they were about to attack. Carefully, he raised his eyes so that he could see over the boulder.

"Merlin," Agravaine called sharply. "Merlin!"

When Merlin finally turned away from the wall to face Agravaine, Arthur hardly recognized him. His grimy face was set with indifference, guarded, and very, very cold; his eyes were hard and almost merciless, but Arthur knew Merlin well enough to see a small edginess behind the mask he had put on. However, even deeper than the mask, even deeper than the edginess, Arthur saw anger festering like a tempest.

It was then that Arthur realized that Merlin was not putting on an air of bravado; his anger was real—as real as the King had never seen it before—and an involuntary shiver crept down his spine at the message in those eyes. Merlin's anger was always trifling—to both the King and the servant himself—and it never exceeded beyond frustration (as far as Arthur knew). He had thought it was almost impossible for the servant to bear ill-will or hatred of this depth towards anyone. Here, he was proved wrong, and he hoped he'd never have to see that anger, as hidden as it was, directed at him.

"Where's Arthur?" Agravaine demanded.

Arthur instinctively froze, and silently begged for Merlin to say something, _anything_ , even the truth… _It doesn't matter_ , his mind screamed in vain, _save yourself, Merlin! Get the hell out of there!_

He should have known better not to underestimate Merlin, but if he expected anything, he sure didn't expect what he said next.

"Be careful," Merlin warned softly.

Agravaine appeared taken aback for just a moment, but Arthur's incredulity lasted longer before he was finally overtaken by disbelief. _What the hell are you playing at Merlin? Have you gone mad?_

"What are you talking about?" his uncle asked suspiciously, eyes darting from side to side. Apparently he decided and realized that Merlin was obviously bluffing, and his dark eyes locked onto the cornered servant once again with a look of impatience. "Where's Arthur?" he repeated severely.

Merlin avoided Agravaine's eyes, shuffled, and huffed a sigh, the corner of his mouth twitching up with stubborn reluctance.

"Tell me," the traitor ordered with the air and tolerance of a bratty, spoiled child. He spoke to Merlin as though the younger man was…a complete simpleton and a mentally challenged fool. "Now!"

Merlin's face had not faltered from the mask of indifference even once, and Agravaine added, with a hint of a smile in his voice, "Or I'll have to kill you."

While Arthur's heart raced like a sprinting horse, Merlin stoically scanned the men surrounding him, as though _counting_ them…or possibly sizing them up for legitimate threat.

The King, trembling with worry and anticipation, was just slipping his sword out of his scabbard in preparation when Merlin began to shake his head.

Arthur's jaw dropped as Merlin met Agravaine's eyes head on and said—not boastfully or even overconfidently— but in that same soft, dark tone, "I don't think so."

Agravaine's eyebrows raised, no doubt thinking of Merlin as nothing more than insolent, and he exhaled a very short laugh of amusement. _Oh, really_? his eyes seemed to verbalize without words.

His uncle stepped forward, intending to take up Merlin's challenge…Arthur muscles tensed, and sweat beaded at his temple…

Before his uncle's first footstep touched the floor, Merlin's eyes flared gold, and all six men were sent flying through the air and crashing to the rock floor.

Arthur's hand released his sword to clamp over his mouth, and chest heaving, he scrabbled away from the scene, only stopping when his back hit the wall only a few meters behind him.

Merlin—Merlin had magic.

It took what felt like an interminable amount of time for Arthur to fully process it. Merlin, his Merlin, his manservant, his _idiot_ , his friend…. a _sorcerer. A sorcerer who, without a single word, tossed six men twice his size into the air…and killed them_. The display of power by his manservant was completely baffling.

A rush of bitter anger swept through him. Magic was dangerous; magic was evil. Magic had killed both of his parents and had turned Morgana against them all. It was illegal and treasonous. His teeth clenched together so tightly it hurt his jaw. What a fool he had been! How long had this _sorcerer_ been hiding under his nose? How long had he practiced those hated Dark Arts? What the _hell_ was he doing in Camelot, and why the _hell_ was he his servant?

Suddenly, all the anger was washed away by heart-crushing sadness. This was _Merlin_.

If Morgana's or Agravaine's betrayal had been painful, this—this was _agony_.

 _Dammit, why, Merlin?_ Arthur whispered to himself. _How long have you been betraying me? How long have you been playing me?_ He felt a few tears leak from the corners of his eyes, and he squeezed them shut, trying to force away the roaring waves of hurt that crashed upon him over and over _and_ over again.

His only, most trusted friend…a traitor. Was everything that Merlin was…a lie? Was all their laughter and were all their conversations false? Was there anything about their relationship that was real or true? Was there some ulterior motive, some hidden plot…?

_No. It couldn't be…could it?_

He recalled memories of Merlin: everything that they had been through together, everything that Merlin had done for him, every bit and piece of their adventures and history, all of his earlier musings…

His refusal was more confident this time, and with each passing millisecond, he became surer and surer.

Merlin had never once betrayed him, never once failed him or stopped believing in him. _All I know,_ he had said both wisely and playfully when Arthur first voiced his self-doubts days ago, _is that for all your many faults, you are honest and brave and true-hearted. And one day you will be the greatest King this land has ever known…_ and both the wise, soft voice and insolent, goofy tones of the younger man carried, continued, and echoed throughout his memory.

Even as more and more evidence of magic now came to light, Arthur knew in his heart of hearts, no matter how much he may or may not have disapproved of and even feared and hated Merlin's magic, that Merlin himself was no traitor.

But—but nothing made sense, he realized confusedly. Magic—he knew—was evil, and by that logic, _Merlin_ was evil. He knew well the deceptiveness and crafty evil of sorcerers, having seen Morgana's and plenty of others' first-hand, but Merlin... he felt a strong pang of shame for even thinking that Merlin was evil, not after all that he had risked for him and Camelot.

Merlin was almost the antithesis of evil. Just now, he may have used his magic to take lives, but it was in defense of his own life and protection of his friends' lives that he used it to take theirs. Was a knight, swordsman, or King any different in that respect?

All of a sudden, the world seemed to stop spinning, and time, which was already crawling, stood perfectly still.

He understood.

Just after Gaius had regained enough strength to speak to him after his kidnapping a few weeks prior, he had admitted that he protected the old sorcerer—the old sorcerer with all too familiar eyes—whose magic had accidentally killed his father. _I chose to protect him,_ he had whispered in explanation. _I feared you would seek him out and execute him. That would've been a grave mistake. The sorcerer did not kill your father. Uther was dying. He tried everything in his power to save him._

Arthur had been confused and slightly disturbed to hear this, and it had occupied his mind more often than he'd care to admit, but nothing had perplexed him more than Gaius's next words.

_Contained within this great kingdom is a rich variety of people, with a range of different beliefs. I am not the only one seeking to protect you. There are many more who believe in the world you are trying to create. One day you will learn, Arthur. One day you will understand... just how much they've done for you._

Today was the day. He understood, and he knew. He understood, and he wondered why it was he had never seen it before.

For one, if that touching and powerful speech hadn't been dedicated to and for Merlin, Arthur would eat his socks, but more notably, if Merlin was not evil because of magic, then, by that logic, magic itself was not unchangeably evil…

This discovery and revelation did not change a single thing. Merlin was still Merlin and still the man he had grown so fraternally fond of.

Sure, Merlin had lied about his secret, but Arthur could see why and didn't blame him in the slightest for his wariness and fear. No one, Arthur least of all, had ever given him the chance to tell the truth.

It was a _wonderful_ epiphany. It was new and fresh, tasting like the first spring rain, and feeling like… _magic_ —the very same force that had always been with him. He had always felt its presence, but he could never describe it. It was golden, a protective, safe shield, a secret guardian angel, and he now knew what it truly was to be. Merlin and his magic.

Suddenly, Arthur was overcome with the strangest urge to burst into giddy laughter. He had never figured Merlin out, and even now, that everything was revealed and nearly every question he ever had concerning Merlin answered, he acknowledged he'd never _would_ , even though an interested curiosity and thirst to learn more had now taken hold of him.

How, when, and why Merlin began to study magic was a mystery to him, but it was no mystery that only _he_ would be idiotic enough to do so in Camelot right under his nose.

Time caught up with him when one of the enemies whom Merlin had thrown spectacularly with his magic, stirred and gasped loudly for air.

Eyelids flying open, Agravaine stared with a mixture of bewilderment and disbelief at Merlin. Merlin's stormy blue eyes shone with genuine panic, but after closing them briefly, Arthur saw Merlin gather his courage and level his careful gaze to Agravaine, who had rolled to his feet.

His uncle pointed at Merlin, and with a bizarre glee, he exclaimed, "You have magic!"

Arthur couldn't help but roll his eyes at the obvious statement.

Merlin's face, now hiding that initial panic, was hardened once again with seriousness. "I was born with it," he specified unemotionally.

 _Born with it?_ Arthur wondered in awe. _Was that even possible?_ He had never heard of such a thing. He'd always assumed that magic was something that you chose, that you accepted of your own free will.

But it was true. Merlin's eyes spoke volumes, and in those eyes, Arthur discerned even larger meaning behind the words: what it meant to be _born_ with magic…it was _part_ of him—just as much as the blood that flowed through his veins—a part that would never fade, and a part that could never be removed or destroyed without ultimately killing his spirit.

 _His whole life!_ Arthur thought. Imagine having to live with that secret and burden your whole life! Imagine having to hide who you were and what you could do. Imagine having to fear for yourself day by day. Imagine feeling the hatred and fear directed towards everything that you were. _All this time…_ He was in awe of the secret sorcerer's strength, and a part of him was deeply sympathetic towards Merlin, who, forced to lead a lonely life, had never known anything different.

 _Why did you leave?_ Arthur had once asked Merlin years and years ago about his home village.

 _I…just didn't fit in anymore_ ; _I wanted to find somewhere that I did_.

_Had any luck?_

_I'm not sure yet._

Agravaine's smile abruptly dropped from his face, a look of revelation taking its place. "So it's _you_ ," he whispered. " _You're_ Emrys."

Though the name meant nothing to Arthur (he'd never heard it in his life), a thrilling chill laced down his body, but obviously, it meant something to Merlin.

He looked troubled, and his voice wavered as he replied, "That is what the Druids call me."

The Druids had a special name for him? But—how—why…? _Merlin, you sure have a_ hell _of a lot of explaining to do_.

Grinning like a fox, Agravaine gestured absentmindedly with his hand, and he asked rhetorically, "And you've been at court, all this time?" When Merlin swallowed convulsively, his uncle released a humorless chuckle and continued, "At Arthur's side?"

Arthur frowned. The way Agravaine spoke reminded him of the time when Morgana hid the Druid boy Mordred in her own chambers and managed to trick him into _not_ searching for him there. He could imagine that he sounded exactly the same when he realized that Morgana had fooled him.

His uncle sounded like a frustrated man who, having searched for something precious for a long time, had finally found it right under his nose. Arthur guessed without doubt that Agravaine, under orders from Morgana, most likely, without knowing of Merlin's identity, had been looking for 'Emrys.'

'Emrys' must have had a _very_ prestigious reputation to have the Druids' reverence and to have caught Morgana's eye. But why she was looking for him—that was something else entirely. Perhaps she had sought him as an ally? That, or she was intimidated and even _afraid_ of the threat he posed...

And wanted him dead.

Arthur's mind reeled in mind-numbing shock as he realized what these observations meant for this 'Emrys'...for Merlin...

 _What_ else _has he done_? _And just how_ powerful _is he?_

Agravaine's darkening chuckles drew Arthur from his state of numb bewilderment, and he heard the biting accusation in the older man's voice as he exclaimed, "How you've managed to _deceive_ him!"

The words hit Merlin directly in the right spot, and in the dim firelight, Arthur saw Merlin's eyes melt with tortured guilt and freeze once again with fierce determination and anger.

The message was clear: Merlin believed he was doing the right thing.

Nodding his head with a false smile plastered on his face, the older man praised, "I am impressed, Merlin. Perhaps we're more alike than you think."

Arthur gnashed his teeth at the insult, and the urge to cut down his treasonous family member then and there for even suggesting what he had sang through his inflamed blood.

Merlin was more than Agravaine and Arthur together could ever _hope_ to be.

The traitor stepped forward and offered his hand to Merlin, but Merlin's hand flew up in defense, palm facing outward and eyes heavily suspicious.

It was no deadly sword, but the grace in which Merlin held his hand, arm, and body proved how dangerous he truly was. Arthur was impressed that Agravaine didn't turn tail and run right there because it was obvious that his uncle saw exactly what he saw.

It was rather frightening.

The traitor's grin fell, and he turned his palm out in a gesture of peace and cautiously shifted his weight away from Merlin.

Slate blue eyes still tight with suspicion, Merlin lowered his hand slowly, and Arthur's hand went reassuringly to his sword hilt once again. Agravaine's new, sheepish smile was too forced for his liking _;_ he was probably trying to lull Merlin into a false sense of secur—

With the speed of a viper, Agravaine thrust himself towards Merlin, a gleaming dagger in hand, but Merlin, moving even _faster_ , threw both arms up. With eyes of burning gold, Merlin threw Agravaine into the air once again, and the traitor crashed into the rocks as before.

This time, however, he grew still and did not move again.

And Merlin stood, unharmed.

Relief blossomed in Arthur's chest, and he closed his eyes in gratitude. Agravaine was dead, killed in a far more merciful way than he deserved; Morgana had just lost an ally; Merlin was safe.

They were _all_ safe…for now.

 _And, dammit, they were probably worried_ sick _about them_.

Merlin remained in his defensive stance for a moment longer, and he looked down at his hands with a curiously unreadable gleam in his eye before jerkily lowering them to his sides.

With a furrow appearing between his eyebrows, Merlin paced forward and stared at Agravaine's body, perhaps for assurance that he really was dead this time.

The crease on Merlin's forehead deepened with pity, and he turned away from the traitor he killed, having done his home and King a good service, but still feeling pain and guilt for it all the same.

Sidling out of his hiding place, quietly slipping away without the now- known sorcerer noticing, Arthur, for the first time since losing Camelot, smiled genuinely and proudly, and affection for the guileless, selfless, and compassionate buffoon of a sorcerer before him spread across him like a soft blanket before a different sort of anxiousness overtook him.

What the hell was he going to do? Should he reveal to Merlin that he had been there the whole time? That he had seen everything? Should he keep this to himself and wait?

While it would be easy to deny that he saw anything, it would be hard to forget, but, at this time, when Chaos was running rampant, when he had his own demons to fight, it would be far harder to reveal and far harder to pull through.

No, now was not the time. As curious and eager as Arthur was to hear Merlin's tale, they both hadn't the time or the energy to tell or listen to it now.

Besides, Merlin was obviously not ready to tell him, and even though Arthur had come to the conclusion that he didn't give a damn about his magic, he had the feeling even he wasn't ready.

He had to think on the entire subject more—it was a huge change in beliefs he had just made, after all. He also wanted to learn more about this indescribably significant second name of Merlin's, and above and beyond that, he felt he had to prove himself. He had to somehow recall all of his unjust denunciations of magic, begin to change things…perhaps prove to Merlin that he now has the _chance_ to tell him the truth.

But first…Morgana.

He couldn't help but feel a twinge of wicked satisfaction and hope as he thought of how Merlin's gifts might be of use…and how he might use them for this task...

A sudden chill of fear gripped his gut: from what he'd seen, he guessed and assumed that Morgana's magic matched, if not acceded, Merlin's, and she, unlike Merlin, was far more ruthless, had no fear of consequence, and had had time to master her magic. And Merlin's advantages? Were there any? He didn't know. Could Merlin...was he even...?

Upon hearing his servant approaching fast behind him, the young fugitive shook his worries and hopes from his head and then doubled back. Hoping that his impromptu acting was up to par and taking a deep breath, he slipped his sword out of its scabbard, and he pretended to cautiously peek around a wall…

"Merlin!" Arthur called with authentic relief as Merlin, with confused eyes, saw his King waiting for him. "Where've you been?" he added for a nice cover-up.

For a moment, Arthur was afraid that Merlin would see right through him, and he was even more afraid that now that he knew, things would not be the same…that it would be extraordinarily difficult not to see him, treat him, or look at him any differently and therefore reveal what it was he saw. Merlin couldn't know he knew. Not yet anyway.

"Were you worried about me?" Merlin asked, his eyes dancing.

Well, it appeared very little acting would be needed at all. "…No," he denied, easily and effortlessly falling back into the timeless relationship that the two shared. "I was making sure we weren't being followed."

Even _Arthur_ wasn't convinced by his excuse, and Merlin, still looking pleased and puzzled, stated, "You came back to look for me." It wasn't a question.

Arthur paused and admitted, "Alright. It's true. I came back because you're the only friend I have, and I couldn't bear to lose you."

Merlin's face slowly lit with a sunny smile. "Really?" he asked, touched.

With a small smirk on his lips, Arthur turned and began to lead the way back, and with humor that only Merlin and Merlin alone would understand, true to his more natural demeanor, he scoffed, "Don't be stupid."

He heard Merlin exhale a laugh behind him and follow him.

Because, magic or no magic, Merlin would follow him to the ends of the earth…just as Arthur would him.

Because while Arthur might not be able to do or say anything about Merlin's magic just yet, there was a chance that he could do so in the shaky and uncertain future.

That is, if there was a worthy enough King to lead them there.


	2. Scene II: Identity Crises

**Scene 2: Identity Crises**

"Sorry," Merlin muttered for the _third_ time.

It was practically _impossible_ for Arthur not to stare with utter disbelief as Merlin stumbled for the _third_ time and as he, who was taking care to actually _watch_ his feet as they made their way through the rough, rocky tunnels in pursuit of Gwen, Isolde, and Tristan, bumped directly into his servant...for the _third_ time.

Considering what he had just witnessed in the caves, considering the fact that Agravaine's body laid slain by the very same clumsy idiot (who would have believed?) before him, it wasn't entirely surprising that he was staring instead of huffing in annoyance as he might have had under more normal circumstances.

But this was anything _but_ normal. Just moments before, he had seen a dangerous sorcerer and a loyal defender…a powerful opponent—and one his enemies needed to be wary of. Now, there was little to _no_ trace of that identity, and instead, there was just…his buffoon of a manservant.

Clumsy idiot? Dangerous sorcerer? Lazy servant? Wise advisor? Selfless companion? Who _was_ Merlin, really?

The young man, none the wiser to Arthur's discovery, was tripping just as gawkily and frustratingly as always and possessed that certain unfathomable _look_ of his, which, for all intents and purposes, looked like the misty-eyed, yet unwavering gaze of a man who was diligently contemplating the meaning of life itself combined with the gaze of a man who was off in one hell of a daydream (perhaps in this case, it wouldn't be a daydream so much as a living nightmare), and both of these were undoubtedly Merlin. The fact that Merlin was still _there_ at his side—supporting him, holding him steady, despite the danger, despite his own failures and his mistakes and his unworthiness—as he had always been… and as he had promised to always be… _That_ was Merlin.

However, the knowledge that Arthur now held—the knowledge of the power Merlin hid inside and of the multitude of lies he must have had to create—made it so hard for him to see who exactly it was that was really there in front of him.

His mind played tug-of-war with itself as Merlin's multifaceted identities, trying to reconcile their place in Arthur's heart and life, blended and blurred and sprung apart. Despite his acceptance of Merlin's not-so-evil magic and his utter conviction in Merlin's undying loyalty and friendship, he couldn't help but wonder which was false, which was true, which belonged, and which didn't.

Because somewhere amongst the lies was _his_ Merlin, his _friend_. He just didn't know the whole story. He couldn't. No, not yet.

There was still a kingdom to win back, after all, and—no, that was even more painful to think about, and he forcefully pushed the creeping doubts away.

Well, at least he had made some progress. By the third stumble, Arthur Pendragon could confidently and assuredly say that it seemed that the clumsiness was _far_ from false.

But if _that_ part was true, it really made him reconsider…and wonder if Merlin's…magic really _was_ powerful enough to counter Morgana's. He could admit he knew next to nothing about magic, but _surely_ the goofy klutz before him would be a _little_ more graceful if he had the reputation of this 'Emrys' fellow and had immense power Arthur suspected he held?

He wanted to groan in frustration. Another thing that hadn't changed: Merlin's tendency to drive him absolutely _mad_.

Gods, nothing at all about his thought process and this internal debate was even remotely _normal_.

So, in an attempt to retain some form of normalcy for Merlin's sake as well as his own mental health's sake, Arthur drawled half a beat late, "Merlin, I do want to catch up with the others _today_. At the rate you're leading…"

Arthur trailed off once he noticed the shadows in his usually sunny servant's countenance. There was an all-too-familiar haunted look—a look that Arthur had long since seen but had never truly _noticed_ until that moment—about his stormy eyes, and they, older than their years, seemed to weigh heavy with self-disgust and pitying guilt for the lives he had taken…

But all of that disappeared in the blink of an eye as the darkness in Merlin's face dissipated into a look of incisive concern, and he, obviously noticing the hesitation in his master's words and detecting the half-hearted tone in which those words were said, cocked his head.

"Are you alright?" Merlin asked softly, his tone warm and voice gentle.

It was a tone that had once bothered him. In the beginning of his kingship, he, believing that he _alone_ was responsible for Camelot and its people, hated hearing that tone from _Merlin_ of all people, and because of the overwhelming stress, he had often been … _impatient_ with and almost _cruel_ to Merlin for it. Now he knew that, instead of opening up to his one true friend, whose judgment and advice was beyond equal, talking about his troubles, and getting the counsel he needed, he had become so narrow-minded that he had been manipulated by the little _snake_ hissing in his ear.

He had been such a fool. It was a wonder that Merlin hadn't given up on him.

A hint of a smile graced Arthur's face, and a surge of affection washed over him. "Funny. I was just about to ask you the same question."

Briefly taken aback, Merlin, whose steely eyes once again raged with inner turmoil, blinked exactly as he had only moments before when Arthur had called him his only friend, and slowly, a pervading sense of peace and compassion—compassion for _him_ —softened those eyes, and a genuine lopsided grin worked its way onto his face. With that, Arthur knew that Merlin's conscience, a conscience truer and more noble than any the young King had ever encountered, had somehow been appeased and that he would be alright.

"You didn't answer my question," the younger man teased with twinkling eyes.

"You didn't answer mine," the fugitive royal shot back immediately.

Pointedly and cleverly, Merlin retorted, "How can I answer a question that had never been asked?"

Arthur opened his mouth to respond with what was meant to be a very witty jab, but somehow, he ended up spluttering uselessly and muttering, "You…can't, I suppose. Answer, I mean."

Merlin's brow furrowed, and after the mischievous glint in his eyes was replaced by some strange, soul-searching gleam that made Arthur quite sure that Merlin peering directly into his mind. An unspoken conversation seemed to pass between the two, and Merlin said quietly, "Arthur, you can tell me."

Yep, reading his mind before he could so much as know his own mind himself.

With every fiber in his being, Arthur knew that he could tell Merlin everything and anything, but not this…Not now. He tried to convince himself, but the swirling chaos of confusion, hope, hurt, fear, and the damn, stalking doubt threatened to spill like vomit from his mouth. He desperately _wanted_ to talk to him…to ask—to _understand_ him…

Of course, there was the problem of actually _saying_ it to him—this was a conversation he was completely unprepared for—and a small twinge of panic sparked in his chest.

"Merlin," he began slowly.

The sudden sound of shuffling feet, crackling torches, and mumbling whispers startled the young King, and jumping in surprise, he whipped his head around to the source and flicked the tip of his sword up into a guard position.

Merlin, too, flinched, and Arthur noticed his wiry body immediately tense and move into a more defensive position...in _front_ of him. They waited with bated breath, but once the pair saw the forms of the two smugglers, one of whom leaded heavily upon the other and looked horribly fatigued—her eyelids fluttered and brow gleamed with the sweat of exertion—and Gwen, Merlin, allowing the twitching hand that had been hovering at his waist to fall back to his side, relaxed, and the fierce fire in his eyes abated.

Arthur, on the other hand, only became even more edgy when he saw the look of utter relief on Gwen's face and the smirk on Tristan's, and a fresh pang of panic stabbed him in the gut.

He had been gone _far_ too long in his search for Merlin, and now that the privacy and the opportunity to reveal what he discovered had flitted by, there was no way in hell that he wanted anyone to know what he had seen—least of all Merlin, who would probably have a small heart attack if his secret was displayed before not one, but _four_ other people.

Besides, it was neither the appropriate nor the prudent time to do so. They all had enough resting on their shoulders without adding Merlin's magic to the weight.

Desperately, before any of them could so much as call out, the King shot the threesome a deadly, narrow-eyed glare that warned and _dared_ any of them to so much as ask why he—and Merlin—had been so delayed.

While a confused and worried Gwen, not understanding but accepting the message, faltered, closed her inquiring eyes, and exhaled a breathy, " _Thank god_. _You're both alright,_ " Tristan wasn't so caring…or observant—he _would_ be the ass who would blatantly _ignore_ the loaded look—and scowling, he greeted Arthur with, "What the _hell_ took you so long?"

Thrown off balance and not prepared with so much as the flimsiest excuse, Arthur floundered for a millisecond before Merlin, his savior, flashed Arthur a sideway glance, winced imperceptibly, and blurted quickly, "Got lost." Giving them all an apologetic, goofy smile, he added, "Again."

Tristan's icy eyes flicked to Merlin, and forgetting Arthur, much to his immense relief, the smuggler teased with a mock-thoughtfulness, "With _you_ leading them off on a chase, I can assume that the men supposedly tracking us are so lost that they are beyond finding?"

With a smile of good-natured humor that didn't quite reach his guarded, careful eyes, Merlin nodded once and responded simply, "They won't trouble us again."

Arthur's sapphire eyes widened, betraying his wild surprise at the easy and _believable_ lie—no, half-truth that Merlin had used to cover his tracks (and Arthur's own, by extension) and at the meekness the servant, who had done his kingdom a service that would have naturally been _very_ highly praised, rewarded, and recognized, had adopted, and the young King lowered them immediately, not wanting to give Merlin away. He was concerned that the joke might have unintentionally pained Merlin, but the servant was composed and revealed nothing, which was more than Arthur could say for himself.

The young King ran a slightly trembling hand through his blonde locks and took several deep breaths as the last of his panic at the close-call faded and as he struggled to force the remainder of his troubled thoughts—thoughts so turbulent it was as though a windstorm had wiped them into a blind frenzy—and the images of Merlin's multiple masks away.

He needed the time to think, but first, he must _make_ the time to do so because the little time that he still had—that was needed for Camelot.

So, for now, it was just Merlin. He and Merlin. Together, as they always were.

 _Together,_ the memory of a brave man echoed in his head.

Gwen's gaze bored into him the entire time, and when he finally got himself under enough control to raise his own, he met her wide brown eyes, which studied him vigilantly.

He couldn't fool her, and there shouldn't have been a doubt in his mind that shewouldn't be the one to notice and persist in questioning.

It wasn't only him, though. Merlin was, after all, her friend too.

Gwen's eyes slowly drifted to the servant, who was now taking the time to tend to Isolde's wound at the request of Tristan and was chattering away, and then flicked back to him.

Arthur read the implied question, and sighing and feeling his still-throbbing heart sting callously, he shook his head once to deter her and turned away, saying, "We'll be safe here for now, thanks to Merlin—" he hadn't meant to put so much gratitude into his words—he could feel Gwen's intensely observant stare on his back—but he was glad of it when a flush from the praise colored Merlin's elfin face "—but once you're done, Merlin, and as soon as Isolde's rested enough to continue, we'd best be moving on."

Merlin's head bobbed absently, and even though Isolde herself smiled wearily and thankfully at him for his consideration to her health, Tristan, looking up from his lover, said with the subtlest hint of sarcasm, "As you wish, Sire."

~…~

Arthur squinted and blinked repeatedly as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight, and with his arm snaking to support his side, which had begun to bother him again on the last leg of their journey in the caves (an overreacting, paranoid Merlin had nearly _commanded_ that they stop to check on his injury, but Arthur wouldn't hear of it), he surveyed and, after a moment, recognized his surroundings.

"Where now?" Tristan, who was still aiding a weak Isolde, asked from his left.

For a man who hadn't wanted to be dragged into this war and had insisted that he had wanted absolutely _nothing_ to do with Arthur, he sounded very much…an active participant—one who indisputably _belonged_ in their group. Indeed, even though the King had been less than pleased to ally himself with _smugglers_ , he couldn't imagine fighting alongside any other (in this situation, at least) and was almost….happy that both Tristan and Isolde's paths had crossed with his, Merlin's, and Gwen's.

After a moment's pause and deliberation, Arthur pointed and said slowly, "To the…plains beyond the mountains."

"You sure?" Tristan asked, his eyes sliding to Arthur's over Isolde's head. The young King was moderately stunned that the small hint of irony and condescension in his voice morphed into seriousness when he continued, "That's Lot's kingdom. He's no friend of the Pendragon."

Damn it all.

As his heart sunk and as he, scrabbling for possibilities and flicking through a plan that hardly existed, he cast his gaze over the wilderness, and from his peripheral vision, he saw Gwen lean around Merlin to suggest, "Maybe we can find somewhere here—a house where we could rest."

"We're fugitives," Tristan reminded matter-of-factly, causing Arthur's brow to furrow. "A danger to anyone who harbors us."

"He's right," Merlin agreed. "We must travel back towards Camelot."

In a way, the idea made sense—they needed to keep an eye on the enemy and try to find what knights had fled the city—but Arthur was not willing to take so dangerous a risk...not without a flawlessly solid, sturdy plan. A plan that would not fail. A plan that would reclaim all that he had lost.

No one else would get hurt because of _his_ mistakes.

He shuffled his feet uselessly and protested, "No, we need to keep going."

"If we hold up in the Forest of Ascetir, we'll be safe…at least for awhile," Merlin explained quickly.

His resolve faltered, and he breathed, "No…"

The forceful wisdom in his servant's soft voice turned Arthur's head, and he looked him in the eye for the first time since they had last spoken in the caves. "If anyone survived this battle, that's where they'll be hiding," Merlin said astutely.

"I know what I'd do," Tristan interceded slyly. "You're the King, Arthur," he added suggestively. "You're our leader—"

"Alright!" Arthur interrupted sharply. From under his eyelashes, he saw a small smirk on Tristan's face, and the shadows of self-doubt that he had been trying so hard to ignore away began to clog his thoughts once more. "Forest of Ascetir, it is."

~…~

They stopped to camp a few hours later, and on a nonverbal consensus, everyone, with the exception of Isolde, who was ordered by an overprotective Tristan to sit and relax, divvied up chores.

By the time Tristan returned with some fresh water and Arthur returned from scoping out the surrounding area for signs of dangerous animals and bandits, Merlin had collected enough firewood to start the fire, and as Gwen sat by Isolde to carefully set up the fire pit and as Merlin wandered off, Tristan began to collect more wood to last through the night.

When Arthur joined him, the smuggler smirked and said with the air of a childhood bully, "Well, well, well, look at you."

The young King crouched and briefly looked at Tristan before turning away with an internal sigh, and intending to ignore the man's taunts, he continued his task.

"First you go back to rescue your servant. Now you're getting your hands dirty," he said in mock surprise. "But then again…why shouldn't you? You're just like everyone else. Nothing _special_ —" he nearly hissed the word "—about you, is there?"

The words stabbed him like a dagger. He had always strived to be the best he could possibly be…for his father, for his kingdom and his people, for Guinevere and… Merlin, and to hear those words directed at him—he who dedicated his entire life to sweat, bleed, and cry for Camelot—with such contempt was agonizing.

The worst part was that Tristan was right.

His best wasn't good enough.

The temper he had inherited from Uther as well as the desire to end Tristan's quarrel with him as peacefully as possible flared within him, and he stood abruptly and responded passionately, "Maybe you're right. Maybe I don't deserve to be King."

"Well, that's alright 'cause you're not." The smuggler flipped a stick into the air and caught it lazily. "Not anymore."

With the dagger twisting deeper into his heart and Tristan's cutting taunts sucking the remaining energy, hope, and _life_ from him, the fugitive King lowered his eyes and felt the irrepressible need to be alone…to just let the shadows swallow him whole.

He couldn't fight them any longer, and he hated himself for it.

Arthur had expected Merlin to follow him, and when it was not his friend's but _Gwen_ 's voice that called his name from behind and _Gwen_ who tried to take his hand, it was just too much.

To have her see him as a mere shell of his former self… and to have her see him at his most vulnerable _again_ … to have her witness the rolling, overflowing, raw emotion _again_ …

She had already taken so much from him that he couldn't and wouldn't let her take more. He couldn't bear it. He couldn't bear _her_.

"Don't," he cautioned.

Arthur's composure nearly slipped as Gwen's tender chocolate eyes flashed with hurt, and regretting his emotionless tone and the need for it, he continued, "What happened in Ealdor was a moment of weakness."

Gwen, her brow pinched in obvious disbelief at his words, caught the lie immediately because she, too, had felt something _more_ in that reunion than 'weakness,' and with the echoes of Merlin's confident prediction that they'd find each other again ringing in his ears, the memory of the servant's shining, proud eyes when he turned Princess Mithian away in favor of his banished, peasant-born lover, and the warmth of Gwen's last embrace imprinted on his skin, he cringed internally and repressed the full truth of the matter.

He still loved her, and yet her betrayal—it could not be overlooked, and in his distress, he could see no way that it ever could be overlooked.

He saw her tears, remembered her excuses, and _relived_ her kissing _him._

How could the joys of the past ever compare to any future with her after what she had done?

Over Gwen's shoulder, he saw Merlin fussing at the spluttering campfire, and he sighed mentally, _Seems you were wrong, this time, my friend._

"What you did to me…" his voice broke, and he swallowed heavily. "Everything I cherished between us; everything we had—it's gone…That'll never change."

Struggling to withhold tears, she pursed her lips in understanding and self-disgust, and her face crumpled.

"I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes, and one tear fell.

And he let her walk away.

~…~

Merlin had once called Arthur the Once and Future King.

Arthur might not have known that it had taken Merlin nearly a decade to share their bonded destiny with him in this way, but the significance of that moment was not entirely lost upon the King.

Then, the words had somehow struck him deeply, making his whole body vibrate like a drumhead. It had felt as though…the words—the _title_ , was _his_ and his alone…as though, for one fleeting moment, Destiny herself had breathed upon him, blessing him with something great and unimaginable.

In that one moment, he had no doubts, no worries. In that one moment, he had never been more certain and more proud of who he was and what he was meant to do in this world.

Though he could not understand why it had had such a profound effect on him, he did know that there was a tone of fierce pride in Merlin's deep voice that he would never forget. Nor would he forget the way those kaleidoscopic eyes—both cheeky and wise—seemed to shimmer with indescribable joy and unyielding faith when he said those words.

But now, as the young fugitive stared into the flames of their meager, rather pathetic campfire, the title mocked him and felt more like a poisonous curse over the land than the glorious, golden hope it was _supposed_ to represent.

 _Once and Future King,_ he snarled sarcastically at himself. _For what I've done…for what I've allowed my people to suffer for me…_

It might have been written for him, but he did not _deserve_ it.

Destiny had chosen the wrong man to be her hero.

He didn't hear Merlin approach him until the servant smacked him amicably on the arm, and sitting next to him against the tree, he said, "C'mon. I'll take watch."

Not knowing whether to be grateful that Merlin had come to talk to him or whether he wanted to talk at all, Arthur did not answer. However, the moment Merlin's eyes locked onto his face and the moment he asked kindly, "Arthur, what's the matter?" he knew that he _needed_ Merlin there.

He couldn't and _wouldn't_ push him away anymore. Not when he was the last one—secrets aside—that he could trust. The one he should have never doubted or questioned….imprisoned or threatened with exile….the one who had to watch wordlessly as he displayed loathing for magic over and over again…

His only, true friend. Despite all that.

"Don't listen to Tristan," Merlin continued gently. "He doesn't know you."

He wasn't surprised that Merlin had read that much, but that was only a fraction of what was bothering him. When he finally tore his eyes from the fire and looked at Merlin, whose familiar eyes shone with fraternal love, he found himself saying, almost apologetically, "I trusted the wrong people."

Without hesitation and without breaking eye contact, Merlin said, "They betrayed _you._ That wasn't your fault."

It was Arthur who turned away. "No," he exhaled, shaking his head and raising his eyes to the sky.

It _was_ his fault.

"I was a fool," he admitted. "I misjudged everyone." _You, above all. I should have listened to you, Merlin. I should have seen._ "My uncle…Morgana…Every decision I've made has been…wrong."

Merlin leaned forward and said with a stern tone, "You're being too hard on yourself."

"I should be more discerning," Arthur disagreed. _I should have known_. _This would have never happened had I been the King they deserve._ "Wise… A statesman. A King!" He shrugged weakly and began to shake his head. "Tristan's right: there's nothing special about me… I'm just like everyone else."

"You're not," Merlin said with serious eyes. It was really incredible at how much the servant truly believed in him, but that pure-hearted, loyalty brimming from those comprehensive, shining eyes only reminded Arthur that he had not only failed himself and his people but that he had also failed Merlin. "You're a worthy King."

"I'm good with a sword," he joked half-heartedly. "That's all."

"Your people _love_ you."

"Most of them are dead," Arthur said bluntly. "Thanks to me."

"No, most of them _escaped_ ," Merlin corrected. He gestured with his hand. "They'll be here in the forest; I'm sure of that."

"If they are," Arthur said roughly, "they'll have to find themselves a new King."

Merlin's eyes flicked back to him with a look of disbelief and bewilderment, and when Arthur detected a hint of disappointment, he tossed the stick that he had been fiddling with earlier from his lap and stood.

"Arthur," Merlin called almost angrily as the King, without once looking back, left him by the tree. "Arthur!"

Both relieved and saddened that Merlin did not follow him, the King laid down for the night, and he felt Merlin's solemn, concerned, steadfast gaze on his back even after Gwen, unable to sleep herself, crawled over to keep him company an hour later.

~…~

Merlin really needed to learn the meaning of silence, and being a secret sorcerer living in Camelot who _should_ have already known—no, more than _known_ —he should have been able to _epitomize_ the meaning of silence…

It really was bloody miracle that he had survived this long.

The King had only just managed to slip into a fitful sleep when he was jolted awake by the young man, who stomped and crashed about like a skittish, untrained horse, before setting off oh-so-suspiciously into the woods.

Even though he was in no mood to move, Arthur couldn't _not_ follow the idiot—it would be just his luck if Merlin got himself hurt—and only awake enough to acknowledge that his _mind_ wasn't awake enough to be doing much more than ditzy somersaults, he grumbled about sleepwalking sorcerers and sprained ankles under his breath as he staggered through the underbrush after the servant, who had chosen to begin to _run_ and then _yell_.

He had a death wish, Arthur was convinced. If enemy patrols didn't kill him, _he_ was going to.

However, after getting slightly lost and finally reaching Merlin, he saw, from behind a tree, the _dragon—_ Merlin _talking_ to the dragon...

What. The. _Hell?_ He must be _mad!_ Absolutely. Mad. Arthur had half-a-mind to storm into the clearing, grab the idiot by his ridiculously over-sized ear, drag him back to the campsite, sit him down, and _glare_ him to death for his complete stupidity.

Of course, he did no such thing…even though it was very tempting.

Instead, after his eyes widened to the size of saucers and his jaw dropped to the ground, he blinked once, groaned, threw up his hands in defeat, and turned around to stalk back to camp.

Magic, Gwen, Camelot…and _now_ dragons? He couldn't deal with this right now. Nope. He was going to forget that he saw what was supposed to be a dead dragon—perhaps it was a different one… or was it too crazy to assume that the dragon _he_ himself had killed had been reincarnated into a _very_ similar looking dragon? How would he know?—and the strange moron being _chummy_ with it, and he was going back to bed.

Yes, bed sounded very good right now. There were no mentally insane servants or massive fire-breathing dragons _there_ , after all.

What Arthur didn't see when he turned away was a legend being made.

He didn't see Merlin's stormy eyes glow with hope when brilliant inspiration struck him and when the very idea that would change the young King's life forevermore formed; he didn't see the deep, dark golden eyes, glimmering with amusement and satisfaction, of the dragon flicker once from his Dragon-Lord's to watch his retreat.

Not that it would have mattered if he _had_ seen it all anyway: by the time Arthur, who had finally ceased ranting, had curled himself up by the fire once again, he had convinced himself that the whole incident was a dream, and by the time Merlin shook him awake the next morning, it was nearly forgotten altogether.

 

 


	3. Scene III: The Sword in the Stone

When a soft tap hit him, Arthur jerked awake in a panic, but after that hand rested peacefully on his shoulder, he relaxed considerably, knowing that it was Merlin (it almost made Arthur laugh giddily to think that he was _relaxing_ in the presence of a sorcerer) who had woken him. At the sight of him crouching over him with an undecipherable look in his eyes, however, that familiarity didn't stop his hand from reflexively shooting up to hit his friend's arm, and it didn't stop him from whispering in alarm, "What?"

"There's something I need to show you."

Apparently, there'd be no room for argument. Merlin, whose voice was full of obstinate earnestness, stepped over him without waiting for what he knew would be an irritable Arthur's complaining, and he began to walk away from the campsite, obviously expecting the King to follow.

It was probably a sensible idea because Arthur, who was never a morning person and infamous for it—well, had he not been so weary from his mild depression and late night excursion (which was all a _dream_ , he felt the need to remind himself… he really was in no mood to get riled into another furious rant), would have certainly and mercilessly made Merlin's life hell for waking him just to simply _"show him"_ something.

But then there was something in his servant's tone that made him know that he didn't have much a choice in the matter anyway. So, confused, curious, and only a fraction—albeit a _large_ fraction—as annoyed as he might have had been a week ago, Arthur tilted his head back so that he could find his sword, yanked it from where he had stabbed it into the ground in his frustration with that damn secret-keeping, friendly-with-a-dragon idiot of his (no, he wouldn't think of it), and, with a small huff, hauled himself up to follow his wayward friend.

However, when he saw Merlin waiting for him at the edge of the trees with crossed arms and with an impish smile on his face and an almost gleeful, mischievous glint in his glowing slate blue eyes, he had reason to grow suspicious. Quite suspicious.

So, it was only natural that, once Merlin began to lope ahead with an obviously specific destination in mind, Arthur grumbled, "This had better be good because this really isn't the time for one of your _ridiculous_ games."

Of course, Merlin ignored him…as was only expected.

And knowing Merlin…Arthur now correctly assumed what it was Merlin was after. He wanted to cheer him up, lift his spirits, raise his morale…or whatever the hell else those optimists do to help the troubled, suffering pessimistic folk. That, or he was going to spew something wise. Perhaps both?

Sometimes you can't really tell with Merlin, but either way, Arthur was not in the mood for either the sporadic bouts of wisdom _or_ the positively _jolly_ optimism.

_Really, Merlin? Now? At this bloody hour of the morning?_

It appeared so, so Arthur decided that, if he wasn't going to get breakfast, he might as well satisfy himself by overindulging on sarcasm.

"I was thinking—"

_Oh, no,_ the fugitive royal groaned to himself. Merlin thinking—this did _not_ bode well… _at_ _all._

"—about last night," the servant started musingly. His gesticulating looked rather funny from behind, and if Arthur, whose humor suddenly disappeared, hadn't felt his gut drop into a pit of hopelessness at the reminder, he might have laughed and teased Merlin for it. "How you were saying that you've give up all hope…how you're a poor leader and shoddy King."

" _Shoddy_?" Arthur objected.

He had officially decided: Merlin was a _horrible_ optimist.

"Alright—shabby," Merlin corrected with teasing exasperation.

Make that _beyond_ horrible.

"…Thanks."

"Well, it reminded me of a tale Gaius once told me."

Arthur raised his eyes to the sky and said with forced patience, "Merlin, I'm _really_ not interested in your favorite bedtime stories."

As Merlin paused and briefly checked his surroundings, the King felt the smallest twinge of guilt—he really shouldn't be taking out his negative emotion on Merlin, of all people, especially when he was now aware of what Merlin could do to him if he chose. Not that he would, he knew, but it still unnerved him a little more than he'd care to admit.

But then Arthur's subconscious gently reminded him of how Merlin had stood before the dragon without so much as a flinch… and that only reminded him that there was no reason to be unnerved. To stand before that bloody massive _dragon,_ with its bloody fangs and claws _,_ and _talk_ with it,Merlin proved to be just as much an idiot—if not more of an idiot—after the revelation as he was before.

If the pair of them survived Morgana's new reign, Arthur wasn't going to let Merlin off easy. Oh, no. Not at all.

When Merlin turned to look at him over his shoulder, Arthur had set an unimpressed look on his face, but this didn't deter Merlin. In fact, this seemed to amuse him, and with smiling eyes, he ordered, "For once in your life… _Just. Listen._ "

The subtlest feeling of déjà vu washed over him, but he brushed that aside as he made a face at Merlin and threw up his hands in a mocking surrender.

Before Merlin turned back, he blinked and hesitated for a millisecond, looking as though he was waiting for Arthur to begin protesting again and as though he was prepared to launch into and _end_ any verbal spat Arthur might try to start with him.

After the moment passed and Arthur said nothing, Merlin seemed to detect no intentions of sabotage from Arthur on his precious story-time, took the gesture for what it was—a sarcastic, _By all means, go ahead—_ and without qualm, did just that.

"Many years ago," he began, turning away and continuing to walk, "before the birth of the five kingdoms—" to his credit, Merlin had adopted a nice cadence to his speech that would have put many a bard to shame, but once Arthur heard these words, having heard them in some form or fashion _many_ times before, he rolled his eyes in impatient exasperation "—this land was in an endless cycle of bloodshed and war, but one man was determined to end all that. He gathered together the elders of each tribe and drew up plans for the land to be divided. Each would respect the others' boundaries and rule over the land as they saw fit. That man was Camelot's first king, ancestor to all that followed, including you, Arthur," he said, twisting to acknowledge the man behind him.

"Bruta."

"You know the story."

"Yeeesss, every child in Camelot does," Arthur drawled in a flat tone, not following where Merlin was going with all this. "Can I go back to bed now?"

"No."

Arthur bit back a loud, obnoxious groan. _Why, Merlin? Why drag me out of bed and torture me like this?_

"Because there's another part of the story—" Merlin's bright eyes shone with some form of strange excitement when he looked back at his King once again "—that you _haven't_ heard."

"Really?" Arthur asked, sounding completely uninterested and beyond annoyed with the rambling fool leading him gods knew where.

His obvious apathy, unfortunately, did not dissuade Merlin, who seemed to be really getting into his story-telling, from continuing.

"When Bruta was on his death bed, he asked to be taken deep into the forest. There, with the last of his strength, he thrust his sword into a rock."

Arthur's brow furrowed in disbelief and denial. There was no way in hell that happened. A dying man couldn't _possibly_ …Hell, _no_ man could! Only magic…

_Ah_. For a moment, Arthur had forgotten who exactly it was that he was listening to and who exactly it was that was telling him this "story," and his previous skepticism about Merlin's motives for bringing him out into the forest returned.

"If his lineage was ever questioned," Merlin was saying, "this—" his eyes flicked to Arthur, who found himself walking to Merlin's direct right "—would form a test, for only a true King of Camelot could pull the weapon free."

Arthur abruptly halted, and without thinking, he asked in tone of a father talking to his very obviously guilty child, "Are you making this up?"

Merlin spluttered for a moment, and Arthur was almost fooled into thinking the servant was genuinely offended until his eyes flicked shiftily and his affronted tone colored with defensiveness. "'Course not!"

The King wasn't exactly sure what to think. Sure, he now wondered how it was that he never detected one of Merlin's lies before, but he also knew that, somewhere in that mass of fiction, there was a single thread of truth—and that truth, he sensed, was far more powerful than any of the lies.

"Alright," he said, trying to glean something more from Merlin. "If it's true, why haven't I heard this story?"

"Well, history really isn't your strong point, is it?"

_Says the man who has had little formal education_ , Arthur quipped to himself.

Unfortunately, he couldn't deny Merlin's point—even if it was only used as a diversionary tactic—and he persisted, "Then where is this rock?"

"Oh, it was lost many years ago during the Great Purge, _but_ …" A hint of a smile appeared in Merlin's voice. "I've managed to find it."

_Of course you have, Merlin_.

"I've never heard so much rubbish in my entire life," Arthur blurted.

Merlin halted again and asked, "Are you calling Gaius a liar?"

"No, I'm calling _you_ an idiot."

Merlin's grey-blue eyes averted from his, and with the smallest tinge of humor in his voice, he asked, "What's that then?"

It didn't matter so much that some part of Merlin's story, if not all of it, was complete hogwash and fabricated fiction. No, it didn't matter. Why should it matter how it got there or how Merlin found it or how the sorcerer was most likely the one who put it there in the first place? Because it was _there_. The sword, the stone. The sword in the stone. In all its glory. It was _there_ , right before his very eyes.

And it sang to him.

It was his sword. _His_. With every fiber in his body, he knew. That sword it was his and his alone.

He felt Merlin's careful, joyous gaze gauging his reaction, and when the servant began to pace to the rock, Arthur, after one dazed moment, followed, and, he and Merlin side-by-side, entered the sunlit clearing.

It was even more beautiful than it looked from afar. Sunlight streamed in narrow beams through the canopy of trees above to hit the glittering hilt and marked blade, and the untarnished gold and silvery iron cast luminous shimmers across its stony sheath. While Arthur, awe-struck, openly admired the lithe grace and power that so greatly contrasted with the almost shameful isolation of its imprisonment, he sensed that this was more than a weapon, more than a tool to fight with.

It was a promise, a hope, a _destiny_.

He was so entranced that he didn't notice that people—his people, his Knights, even _Gwen,_ who had definitely been asleep when they left camp—beaming widely at him and observing him with the uttermost respect and faith, filtered slowly into the clearing, but when he did, a brief flash of surprise, relief, and hope passed over him only to be replaced by panic.

When an overwhelmed Arthur spun around on Merlin, the smiling sorcerer-servant was watching them all with smugness and pride seeping from every pore. It couldn't be more obvious: Merlin had somehow found them all and had told them this story…

"What the hell are you playing at?" he hissed with wide sapphire eyes.

"I'm proving that you're their leader and their King," Merlin said calmly, his eyes emphasizing each 'their' by flashing to the gathering behind the stone.

"That sword is stuck fast in solid stone!"

"And you're going to pull it out," Merlin said matter-of-factly.

Was he now? Would he really be the one pulling it out? Because he knew that no mortal man of sinew, no matter how strong, could either have placed it there or pulled it free. A man of magic, on the other hand… He saw it—there in Merlin's eyes.

Gods, if that fool used magic in front of all these people for _nothing_ …

"Merlin, it's impossible," he protested.

"Arthur," Merlin said, his eyes unfathomably deep and shining with truth and fierce belief, "you're the true King of Camelot."

He couldn't pull it out—he couldn't… but there was Merlin and there were his Knights and his people standing, waiting…staring expectantly at him…

"D'you want me to look like a fool?"

"No, I'm going to make you see that Tristan's wrong!" he exclaimed passionately. "You're not just anyone. You _are_ special. You and you alone can draw out that sword."

When turned from Merlin to the sword to hide the pain in his eyes, he hid a sigh. How could he be special…when he had guessed that it would be Merlin's magic that would release the sword for him? That that sword, though it _called_ to him, was never his to take under his own power?

They were waiting for him, their eyes shining, and Merlin, who believed in him so much that he'd go through all this trouble…do all of this. For him.

He had to trust Merlin. How couldn't he?

With a hardening resolve, Arthur slipped his sword from his belt and stabbed it into the ground at Merlin's feet, where it wavered with the force of his thrust, and he studied Merlin's soft smile and confident eyes before saying, "You had better be right about this."

Merlin followed like a shadow behind him as he, with leaves crunching underfoot, slowly made his way to the rock, and after scanning his audience once more, he chose to ignore them and focused on the glorious sword.

So, with nothing more to lose, Arthur grasped the hilt—the contact with the thing sent a warm, wonderful tingling sensation down the length of his arm—with both leather-coated hands and now feeling self-conscious at the amount of eyes in front of him, pulled with all of his might.

It, much to his surprise, dismay, ( _Dammit, Merlin! What the hell are you doing?_ ) _and_ his more logical expectation of the non-magical variety, didn't budge.

"You have to believe, Arthur," Merlin said from behind him in a calming, deep voice—his "wise" voice.

Arthur, no longer feeling annoyance at Merlin for making him struggle and instead feeling more and more like a disappointment to all those who looked up to him, tugged all the harder, and he began to tremble and exhaled heavily with the exertion he was putting into it.

"You're destined to be Albion's greatest King."

With these words—words ringing with fierce devotion and irrevocable certainty—echoing in his mind, Arthur released the hilt and stared unblinkingly at _his_ sword.

"Nothing, not even the stone, can stand in your way."

It suddenly hit Arthur like a lightning bolt, and from under his lashes, he looked at the crowd, who observed him with nothing less than _love_.

He closed his eyes, and he finally saw what it was that Merlin was trying to get him to understand.

It shamed him to think he had been so selfish… so _weak_. It shamed him to think that he had forgotten what truly mattered…that he had forgotten what it meant to be one of Pendragon blood.

These people, all of them, were not there for the sword. They weren't there to see the impossible become possible, the unreal become real. They were there for _Camelot—for him_. Because they believed in what he stood for. Because they believed that he could lead them to victory and avenge them all. They, uncaring of his faults, had forgiven him for the suffering he caused or, more likely than not, they had felt that there was nothing to forgive, just as Merlin had…

Arthur might have thought that Merlin was intending that the sword was what would ultimately prove his worthiness to himself, but it wasn't. He should have known better. It was that his people had gathered together, that they still held hope within their breasts, that they were all together, alive, and prepared to fight... _for Camelot._

Just as he, Camelot's sovereign, should have been for them.

Their spirit and their belief embraced him, and he felt lighter, freer than he had in a long time. The poison of doubt soaked away; the poison of two snakes' betrayals had been purged from his mind by Merlin, by them all.

He had _them_ —their everlasting, immovable loyalty.

He had the people's love.

He had, at his right hand, the one sorcerer who, miraculously, despite everything, had not become corrupt and never abused his powers in greed or selfishness, who had _never_ left nor _will ever_ leave his side. His noble best friend of not-so-noble blood, who had only ever served Arthur, his King, and who used his magic to protect and defend.

What more could he want? What more could he ask for?

Unbidden, one hand wrapped itself around the hilt of the yet-to-be-named blade of legend, forged by man, guarded by magic, and begotten in the Dragon's breath…

He was ready to fight. He was their King.

"Have faith."

Merlin's magic, golden and pure, enveloped him, and with his sorcerer's help, he eased his sword from the stone and held it aloft, an indescribable feeling of confidence, power, and hope coursing through his veins.

"Long live the King!" Leon shouted, breaking the awed silence.

The crowd took up the cry, but it was Merlin's wide, lopsided grin of pride on his back that touched him above all others'.

He was done whining; he was done moping. What was done, was done, and there was nothing to do to change that.

But the future…that was of _his_ making, and with them there with him, truly nothing could stand in his way.

~…~

Arthur had not realized that Merlin had returned to his rightful spot at his King's right hand until he felt him grip his shoulder gently, and when the elder tore his ocean-blue eyes from his sword to face the younger, whose dusky cerulean eyes crinkled with the force of his smile, he whispered on an exhale, "Merlin…Thank you."

Merlin's broad smile grew, and he asked, "Whatever for?"

The King, unable to exactly express the depth of his gratitude in words, didn't answer and instead he smirked and lightly punched his friend on the shoulder.

Before Merlin could hurl a witty insult at him, Leon called, "Alright, Sire?"

The people and knights had seemed to understand that, after Arthur freed the sword from the stone—it had not been the time for touching reunions or celebration. No, despite their glee at having found their King once again, they, whispering amongst themselves and knowing there would be time yet to celebrate when they retook Camelot, had filed away back to their camp and would humbly and solemnly await their King's orders. Only those of the King's inner circle untangled themselves from the mass and maneuvered their way to his side.

Arthur greeted Leon and gripped his arm before turning to Percival to do the same. Guinevere—he only briefly passed his gaze and smile over her, and in doing so, he noticed her widening eyes fixated on the sword with an expression akin to recognition and complete shock.

However, when Percival clapped Merlin on the back and boomed, "And you Merlin? You must've been awake all night searching for us. I'm surprised you're not dead on your feet," Gwen, unknowledgeable of Arthur's eyes on her, immediately tore her gaze from the sword to study Merlin vigilantly.

Merlin did not notice, rolled his eyes, and answered Percival teasingly, "All the better now that I've recovered from nearly getting run through."

While Arthur felt a rush of gratitude for Merlin's efforts and amusement at the servant's tone, the giant of a Knight groaned and threw his hands to the sky, exclaiming in exasperation, "Honestly, Merlin, what did you expect when yousnuck up behind me? I _did_ apologize."

"I'm sorry. Did you just say that _Merlin_ snuck into your camp?" Tristan, who, with Isolde, had just joined the little group, asked incredulously.

Arthur, who still watched Gwen, whose eyes were completely unreadable, curiously from his peripheral vision, snorted, and Merlin glared at him. "Funny, Tristan," the servant mumbled while Percival and Leon, inquiring the presence of the newcomers, exchanged raised eyebrows.

Tristan winked. "I try." Smirking still, he turned to the King and said with a guarded tone, "That was quite a display, Arthur Pendragon."

Isolde, rolling her eyes at her lover, muttered, "Not now, Tristan! We shouldn't quarrel now, of all times, and we should introduce ourselves."

"And we should be on our way," Arthur interceded, suggestively nodding his head in the direction the rest of his people had gone.

So, with Leon, Percival, and the two smugglers tentatively introducing themselves—Isolde cleverly failed to mention Tristan's and her profession, for lack of better word—and with Merlin, who sent one last bright glance at Arthur behind him, reluctantly in tow, the aforementioned began to walk and soon settled into a companionable relationship as the men began to swap stories and information.

The King himself was about to follow—he was interested to hear Percival and Leon's tale about Merlin's unexpected, surprise visit the night before—but when he saw that Gwen had hesitated for longer than he had, he paused and, after a small debate, he turned back to her.

Eyes closed, the woman was now pinching the bridge of her nose, and conflict danced across her face like torchlight on a corridor's walls. "Guinevere?" he asked gently.

Her eyes flew open, and after a weak smile replaced her anxious, thoughtful frown, the only sign of her trouble remained in her heavy brow, which was pinched with befuddlement.

"Sorry, Sire. I'm coming," she said, avoiding his eyes.

"No, don't apologize," he said gruffly. "You looked…" he trailed off. "Is there something the matter?"

If she was confused or surprised about the genuine concern coloring his voice, she did not show it, and instead she bit her bottom lip and looked sheepishly up at him from under her long lashes. "It's just my imagination, my Lord."

His nose twitched at her using his formal title, and he was surprised at how much it bothered him that _she_ (Merlin was the only other person he secretly could not _stand_ using his titles) should find it necessary to use it.

"Nothing to worry over," she continued dismissively. "Shall we catch up with the others?"

Having suspected the reason for her distractedness, however, he stopped her as she tried to move around him and said in a voice both stern and gentle, both mildly exasperated and understanding, "Gwen…"

With her doe-like eyes softening in the realization that he wasn't going to let her go without giving him a real answer, she sighed and said warily, "It's just…I thought I recognized the sword—your sword—as…as one of my father's own."

Arthur ran his eyes down the length of the blade and lazily flipped it over a few times over in his hand. "Let me guess," he said, not taking his eyes from the weapon, "The last time you saw this it was in Merlin's hands."

Gwen gaped at him, which was answer enough for him, and spluttered in amazement and confusion, "How—how did you…?"

He, with a knowing smile, shrugged noncommittally at her question and slipped the sword into his belt. He knew how observant and intelligent Gwen was, and he could see in her eyes the suspicion of the absolute truth beginning to form and wondered how long it would take before she was absolutely sure...and how she would react when that time came.

He hoped to the gods that she didn't fear him…Merlin, who must have been terrified of just that for the whole of his life, deserved better.

"But, Arthur—"

"Don't question," he cautioned softly, turning away. With a chuckle and on an impulse, he teased under his breath, "It'll end up driving you mad."

Immediately, he cursed himself for nearly admitting and certainly hinting to Gwen what he knew, but at the same time, he felt immense relief upon opening up to someone.

"You seem to speak from experience," she said carefully, her eyes flashing across his face.

Arthur snorted. "C'mon. This is _Merlin_ we're talking about."

After witnessing her amused smile, he, without another word, began to trek after others, but she called suddenly, "Arthur!"

He twirled back to her with a questioning, expectant look, and blushing, she said, "I'm glad you're back."

Without shame, he responded, "Me, too."

Deep within, he felt something of what had been and what still was and wondered if he and Gwen couldn't still be friends after all.

~…~

The instant he and Gwen, whose face betrayed nothing when she found herself next to Merlin (much to Arthur's relief), caught up with the others back at their large camp, Arthur began to pepper Leon and Percival, who had been spying on the movements in the castle, with questions about Helios and Morgana's defenses.

"What about the drawbridge?"

"Well manned."

"As are the Northern Gates."

"Battlements on the South-side?"

"Arthur, even if we can get inside—she has an army," Percival reminded him as they stopped.

"And we have what? A few hundred?" Arthur guessed, pausing and allowing the group to form a circle.

Percival nodded gravely. "And they still outnumber us."

"Yeah, but only three-to-one," the King said dismissively.

Leon smirked and exhaled a small chuckle.

"And you think they'll fight?" Isolde asked, her hand on her own sword's hilt.

"They fight for Arthur," Leon answered.

"It's not me they have to fight for," the King corrected humbly. "It's for Camelot."

"No, Arthur. It's you the people love. And you they'll lay down their lives for." Leon's eyes flicked to Merlin, who was smiling with satisfaction at the Knight's strong words of faith. "Know that I would ride into the mouth of _hell_ for you," he vowed.

Without hesitation, Percival agreed, "And I."

Arthur saw Isolde exchange a look with Tristan, and with eyes brimming with the fondness of brotherhood he rarely displayed to his Knights and with a hint of a smile appearing at the corners of his mouth, he looked between them thankfully.

"And I."

Merlin's oath did not surprise him, but, of all the others, his seemed to be the most binding and rang with the most promise—the power of their bond sang through his eyes—and when he looked at Merlin, he saw no servant in shabby clothes and a ratty neckerchief—no, that image was gone long ago. Here, he saw the friend who had an insolent tongue and a heart of gold, the brother in all but blood he had never expected to have.

Drawing his new sword, he grinned and said confidently, "Then to the mouth of hell it is."

~…~

They were going to attack during the late morning the next day. Arthur had decided upon late morning instead of the typical dawn because—well, just that: they would expect an attack at dawn.

In the late morning, they would be more at ease, and they would be anxious for the coming guard change (Leon had discovered that they shift guards at midday) so that they could rush happily to the tavern for their midday meal. Therefore, not only would they be fatigued and lazy near the end of their shift, but they would also be fighting during hottest, most uncomfortable hours of the day, _and_ they would be distracted by hunger.

Leon was to lead a group of knights to storm the castle, get to the dungeons to release the rest of the soldiers and knights held captive, and avert the attention from Arthur's small party, which was compromised of only Gwen, who had glared at him until the suggestion that she remain behind died from his lips, and Merlin, who was silent for most of this meeting and who alternatively listened with the greatest attentiveness and then stared off into space with misty eyes.

The two smugglers—they were not included in their fighting-men tally nor were they a part of the meetings because Arthur had suspected that the pair did not wish to be involved, so he respected the decision he thought they would make and made plans around them. He didn't expect them to join him, but should they do so…all the better.

Percival and Leon had not liked (well, that was an understatement: they protested heatedly and loudly for nearly an hour on the subject) that Arthur didn't choose a few knights to go with him, especially when he not only had to watch his own back but Merlin's _and_ Gwen's, but the King was firm on the matter and reasoned that he could find Helios and Morgana all the easier in such a small group. Eventually, finally realizing that the stubborn-headed King would not budge no matter how many times they reminded him of the might of Morgana's magic, the uneasy, unhappy Knights dropped the subject and hoped that Arthur knew what he was doing.

What they didn't realize was that Arthur knew _exactly_ what he was doing, and they did not realize that their solution—and their secret weapon—was sitting right there in their circle with them.

To deal with Morgana—Arthur had a special, sneaky-like pep-talk prepared for Merlin.

He could only hope that Merlin was powerful enough to do what needed to be done.

When night had fallen and all the plans were set, Arthur slowly walked through the camp and made sure that all the preparations were running smoothly and that everyone had what they needed. This truly needed to be done, but Arthur used it as the perfect cover and the perfect excuse to "casually" pass by Merlin, who was tending to the campfire, and to allow his nerves to leak through the careful defenses he had been trained to posses.

His efforts proved to be fruitful when, within a few long strides, he heard Merlin jog up from behind him to speak with him.

"You alright?" Merlin asked.

"…Yes," he answered simply with an even, clipped tone that suggested he really wasn't in the mood to talk.

It was a tone Merlin _always_ ignored.

"D'you think there're too many of them?" the servant asked.

When Arthur looked at him, even though the question was one that a man would ask were he fearing the outcome of the battle tomorrow, he saw little fear.

He didn't want Merlin to concern himself with the men when Arthur needed— _desperately_ needed Merlin to focus all of his strength on the witch, so he answered cleverly and confidently, "Southrons are men like you and me." It was obvious Arthur was indirectly referring to the few immortal armies Camelot had faced in past years, and he clarified further, "Men we can fight. But Morgana—" he shook his head with genuine worry. "Her power is so great, and we've got nothing to answer it with."

Arthur knew he got his hidden message through to Merlin the moment the sorcerer-servant jerkily stopped in his tracks and inhaled sharply through his nose…

"I never finished Gaius' story."

…Or maybe not.

The King rounded on his friend and begged in exasperation, "Not _now,_ Merlin, please!"

"Could you just listen?" Merlin mimicked his tone, placing his hands on his narrow hips.

After detecting the fierce obstinacy in those cobalt eyes, Arthur decided to humor the idiot, and he bowed his head in a permissive gesture.

With vague smile playing at the edges of his lips, Merlin said, "When the sword was thrust into the stone, the ancient king foretold that one day, it'd be freed again—in the time that Camelot needed it most."

Arthur found himself trying and failing to withhold a grin at Merlin's insistence that he continue to play up the supposed "story."

But then something changed, and Merlin's eyes deepened with wisdom, and the words became imbued with power and immutable truth: "The man who freed it would unite the land of Albion and rule over the greatest kingdom the world has ever known." He gave a small shrug and said, "That man is you, Arthur."

Not sure what to take as fact and what to take as fiction (or even what to take as a bizarre blend of the two), Arthur's brow furrowed as he carefully studied Merlin, who exhaled and smiled his trademark, lopsided smile, which contrasted yet _fit_ with those profound eyes so well that Arthur was only confused further.

"You're making this up!"

The grin morphed into a teasing smirk, and Merlin asked, "Why would I do that? Your head's already as big as your waist."

Arthur had to refrain himself from looking down at his gut and instead he kept his eyes locked with Merlin's.

"I believe it though—" pride seeped into his voice, and _that_ smile graced his lips "—and I believe in you. I always have."

Arthur didn't know how exactly this conversation turned from a subtle 'Merlin-go-use-your-secret-magical-powers-and-help-get-us-the-hell-out-of-this-mess' pep-talk to another of Merlin's wise, inspiring speeches that laid forth all of his loyalty for his King to see, but when his friend turned away to return to the fire, Arthur contemplated the sword Merlin had given him and found that was more than glad that it did.

It meant that there was nothing to be afraid of.

~…~

Arthur had long since learned the gift of being able to control his sleep (in Camelot, he slept like the dead, but during dangerous excursions such as these, he slept very lightly and was ready to spring into action at any sound that jolted him from his fitful half-sleep), so, though Merlin was as silent as a ghost when he flipped out of his covers and sat on a log to stare at the spitting flames of their fire, Arthur heard him, woke fully, and controlled his breathing accordingly.

Luckily for him, he was already sleeping on the side that faced the fire, so instead having to go through the trouble of shifting "in his sleep," he only had to crack his eyes open to see the whole of Merlin's face across the fire from him.

The servant was fiddling with his fingers, and a heavy shadow of deep contemplation had settled on his brow and darkened his face. Arthur watched him with a growing respect and wondered if he had ever seen the young man so serious about something before…

Or better yet: how often had this very expression taken place of the goofy smile _out of_ his line of vision?

However, that all changed when the most diabolical grin spread across Merlin's face and when his eyes glinted and narrowed with impish mischievousness. Sparks spitting and smoke rising, the firelight played across his already elfin facial structure and threw shadows that made the sorcerer look as though he truly was one of the dark Fae of nightmare.

As Merlin, who very clearly had a very wicked, though brilliant plan in mind and who appeared to morph back into human form out of the light of the flames, determinately stood to his feet and carefully snuck away in the direction of the citadel, Arthur, still slightly stunned by what he had just seen and suddenly terrified for the idiot, thought to himself with a small shudder, _I would_ not _like to be Morgana right now_.

It took everything he had to remain still until Merlin disappeared from sight, and all the while, his mind bickered with itself as he tried to decide whether or not he should follow. He had thought Merlin would use his magic _in_ the battle—when he was fully rested and prepared—and he wondered if this little mission the sorcerer decided to go on would drain him of his strength. If it did? If it didn't? The fool was selfless to a fault, and Arthur didn't want him, who already didn't know the meaning of self-preservation, to exceed his limits—whatever those may be.

But most importantly on Arthur's mind: what if he got caught? _Killed_ even?

The thought of Merlin's death…that was _unbearable_.

But, he, who trusted Merlin with his life, would have to trust him in this.

In the end, he sighed, knowing from the way Merlin's eyes hardened mercilessly and resolvedly that there was absolutely no chance he could dissuade him from going, even if he did reveal what it was he knew, and knowing that he would only get in Merlin's way, so all he could do was hope to the gods that Merlin didn't get himself hurt and that he came back to them.

His reluctant approval of this idiotic, reckless, I-plan-to-sneak-into-Camelot-under-Morgana's-very-nose mission did _not_ mean that he couldn't set a time limit _whatsoever_.

When he turned over on his other side with every intention to wait the next _two_ hours (and that was almost _too_ generous of an already worried Arthur) before he went after the idiot, his sparkling blue eyes fell on Guinevere's for one split second before they flew closed.

It didn't fool him: she was awake and had seen exactly what he saw.

And both he and she, not bothering to hide or pretend, breathed sighs of absolute relief when Merlin returned two hours later dressed in a Southron's leather uniform and black hood.

~…~

Arthur was genuinely surprised that Merlin even managed to stand upright, and as he studied his ditzy, half-asleep friend, who was swaying on feet with a vague, distant expression, he winced and really hoped that whatever it was he did last night _worked_ and that adrenaline would wake him up enough to keep him from getting stabbed and coherent enough to do any magic should whatever it was he did last night _fail_.

Sighing, he snapped his fingers in front of Merlin and said, "Wakey, wakey."

Merlin started, and with a weak smile, his eyes followed Arthur as he moved around him.

"Look like you've been up half the night," he said casually, curious as to what his friend's reaction would be.

To his utter surprise, Merlin said immediately _and_ truthfully, "I was. Couldn't sleep."

"I thought you said you had faith in me," Arthur teased lightly.

Merlin looked at him and smirked, "Whatever gave you that idea?"

_Idiot_ , Arthur thought fondly as he, gaining confidence, growing calm, and brightening his spirit and mood as he always did after his bantering with Merlin, shrugged and walked away.

Because, this was how it was between them and how it always would be—for they knew each other better than they knew themselves, and though they bickered and quarreled with wit, they fought _together_ with sinew, sword, and _magic_ , side-by-side, King and sorcerer, as _one_.

And in less than an hour, they were going to stand at Camelot's walls and fight for her freedom. _Together_.


	4. Scene IV: Retaking Camelot

Arthur wished he could have remained near Merlin, who, though stiff as a wooden board, seemed to emit a growing, pervading aura of quiet resolve and…not serenity _exactly—_ but it was some strange form of calmness and composure—as he worked and offered his help around camp. His smiles might have been few and far between, his eyes might have gradually hardened into gems of cobalt, and his lips might have released few words, but as the time of battle approached, those once-tense muscles loosened visibly, and he appeared not overconfident but not _too_ worried about what they would face.

Well, for someone like _Merlin,_ who could hardly put one step in front of the other without causing a small catastrophe, to infiltrate the enemy-filled castle _and_ return unscathed…well, Arthur couldn't help but feel a little comfortable about overcoming the lousy guard system himself.

And then there was Merlin's apparent satisfaction, which lingered in the depths of his eyes, that Arthur assumed was a result of last night's secret-magic mission…

Yes, the King would have loved to stay near his loyal servant, whose rather unnatural, uncharacteristic silence, which would've irritated him on a regular day, and surprisingly comforting presence would have kept him cool-headed and collected, but he had to rove the camp to certify that all was ready and instead had to bear witness to the endless fidgeting and the angry restlessness of his fighting-men, which stressed him, vexed him, and excited him simultaneously and had his Pendragon blood prancing and his sword humming with lust for battle…

Gods knew he couldn't afford to go berserk _now,_ of all times, and it took all of his patience to subdue those knights (one such knight nearly beheaded the King when he approached from behind) close to entering the "manic stage" due to nerves and hunger for action.

Considering that, it was very understandable why Arthur would need his temper soothed and why, at the moment, he just wanted the damn battle over with already.

"Excitable, aren't they?" Percival asked after loping to his shoulder and gesturing to a group of new soldiers who where blowing off steam by bickering with each other.

Arthur, in a state of incredulousness at their verbal brutality, had been watching the interactions of the particular group in question for a few minutes now and had been prepared to intervene the moment things became physical, and in response to Percival's question, he pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

"As long as they do their duty," he muttered, "fight with honor, and don't get themselves killed in a moment of stupidity…or end up eating each other alive, I don't care. Oi!" he suddenly shouted, glaring at the now-brawling men. "You lot, save it! You should be using this time to rest and prepare yourselves."

When the soldiers hung their heads ashamedly at his chastisement, broke apart, and avoided his stern, narrow-eyed glare, Arthur, satisfied, turned away and rolled his eyes at Percival and Leon, who had just joined them. "I don't envy you, Leon."

Leon, who was the one who would be leading most of the men during the battle, just snorted. "They'll be fine once the fighting begins."

"I'm sure," Arthur said absentmindedly, beginning to walk again. "Are you both ready?"

Leon and Percival exchanged a look, and Percival said slowly, " _We'_ re ready, yes…"

The King rose an eyebrow at the emphasis Percival oh-so-subtly placed on the pronoun and looked between the two, both wary and concerned, before groaning in sudden comprehension, "Not _again_ , you two!"

"Sire—"

"Don't 'Sire' me, Leon," Arthur interrupted. "I appreciate how concerned you are for my well-being, but my decision is final."

"You should not go alone, Arthur!" Percival protested.

"You seem to forget that I won't be alone."

The two Knights did not look impressed, and completely ignoring the King's previous statement, Leon added rhetorically, "Arthur, what'll _one_ sword do against Morgana?"

The King sighed, closed his eyes, and asked in exasperation, "Do you trust me?"

"…Yes."

"And do you trust Merlin?"

"…Yes."

"Then there's nothing more to be said here," Arthur said with small smirk and a tone of finality.

When Percival and Leon gave him similar looks of helpless unease, their King said, "I might not seem like I know what I'm doing, but I _do_ know what I'm doing, and if you trust both Merlin and me…then everything will be alright."

"How can you be so sure, Arthur? She's more powerful and ruthless—"

"Follow the plan," Arthur reminded them. "We have the most worthy knights in this realm and a bond that'll endure no matter what befalls us. We just have to believe…and remember what we can accomplish and what we _have_ accomplished with the power of belief alone. Someone—" a smile played at the corners of his lips and his eyes flickered to Merlin's back "—once taught me long ago that if we don't believe in ourselves and in the men who fight at our side, we have already lost...before we had even begun."

The Knights blinked and, in stunned silence, followed his gaze.

"Know well that I believe," Arthur finished.

The pair of them suddenly smiled, and Leon, eyes shining with respect and fondness and softening with acquiescence, said, "Destiny was certainly smiling upon us all when she allowed his path to cross with yours, Arthur."

Beaming inwardly at Leon's words—the Knights all loved Merlin, true, in their own ways, but it was a rare day that they ever _expressed_ that so openly—Arthur nodded in agreement and said, "I've learnt to trust in Destiny. There's more at work here than any of us could have ever imagined."

Noticing Tristan approaching with Isolde, he dismissed them both with, "Now, go on and ready yourselves. We'll be marching soon."

"Sneaking's more like it," Percival joked wryly under his breath.

Arthur, pleased that there were no more objections from either of his Knights and that they were finally more at peace with his decision, smiled and gestured them onward. "Go," he repeated.

"Good luck, Arthur," Leon said gruffly.

"And you."

As the two Knights continued on, Arthur slowed his pace and closed the distance between him and the two smugglers. Tristan had his hands on his hips, and while he licked his lips and pursed them, there was an almost rueful expression on his face.

Arthur gave the barest of nods in greeting and said politely with a hint of regret, "This is where we say goodbye."

"Arthur," Tristan began, and Isolde's gentle blue eyes removed themselves from Arthur's to look at him, "All my life I have shied away from other people's wars and—" he briefly turned to meet Isolde's gaze before meeting Arthur's again "— _despised_ the power and wealth kings buy with the lives of men."

Unwittingly, Camelot's King bowed his head and lowered his eyes in a shamed, silent apology and was genuinely surprised when Tristan finished in a softer tone, "But you've shown yourself to be different."

"You fight for what is right and fair," Isolde said with a small smile, "and for that reason—" she looked at Tristan again, signifying that they were in complete agreement "—we'd like to fight at your side."

A slow smile began to creep onto the King's face, and so grateful and touched that he was momentarily speechless, he looked between the two—Tristan had drawn himself up and was watching Arthur's reaction with a hint of that smugness of his—and finally said with a voice rich with sincerity, "I'd be honored to have you fight at my side."

Isolde nodded, and Arthur said, mostly to Tristan, "We stand together as equals."

At these words, the male smuggler's icy crystal-blue eyes shone with newfound esteem and openly expressed the friendship that had just been born.

~…~

Once Arthur had briefed Tristan and Isolde about their plan and their three entry points—one group, comprised of only Merlin and Gwen, would be led by him, another was led by Leon, and the final one, the one that they were going to join, would be led by Percival (they agreed that the two smugglers would join up with Arthur, Gwen, and Merlin once they had gained entry into the castle while Percival and Leon's teams joined up)—the King finally had a second to be alone, and he welcomed it.

Instead of lying back and relaxing, however, he had taken to staring at the sword, which had its tip raised to the heavens, he had acquired and studying the intriguing markings etched into the blade. But beyond that and most importantly, he was focusing on its magic.

After feeling Merlin's magic touch him the day before when he drew the sword from the stone, Arthur had wondered how it was he had never realized it before. It was _so_ familiar in its warmth and light...and he was positive that he had felt it on _plenty_ of other occasions.

Too many to count.

And accompanying his wonder at the sword and Merlin's powers was regret and guilt. Merlin had had to hide his talent and live in fear because of _him_ …because he was too blind to look beyond the veil of prejudice and beyond his _own_ fear of magic. He couldn't deny that it wasn't still there—his fear—but he knew that was only because he didn't understand it…Oh, did he want to, though. He looked forward to the day he could understand it, to the day that he could understand why it was Merlin was different from the rest, to the day that Merlin could talk to him about it and be free to show him—to show them all…

He sighed and turned the blade over in his hand. He should have known. He should have been the friend that Merlin was to him. Merlin, who seemed to know all of his secrets whether by observation or by Arthur's own confiding—

"Arthur."

Slightly startled and sheepish at having been caught staring broodingly at a _sword_ , Arthur turned and found himself face to face with Guinevere.

Before he could recover, she was saying earnestly, "If anything happens to us, I want you to know—"

"Guinevere," Arthur breathed in a pained voice.

It was as if he had never spoken, and she finished passionately, "I understand why you can't forgive me, but I never once stopped loving you. _Never once_."

A stunned Arthur, who felt a swooping sensation in his breast, blinked, and after she ran her eyes over his face once, she brushed past him.

For the second time in the past three days, he, following her path with his conflicted sapphire eyes and wishing with all his heart he could find the words and the courage to call her back, let her walk away.

~…~

It was on a nonverbal consensus that everyone, now silent and focused on one thing and one thing only, gathered their weapons and began to congregate in an organized group near Leon and Percival and to separate themselves into their respective teams.

After taking a few deep breaths, Arthur was heading to join them, but he halted suddenly when he passed Gwen and Merlin. The latter of who had accepted a cheap spare sword—even from this distance an overprotective Arthur could see that even though that pathetic thing _might_ be able to protect Merlin if he couldn't use magic, its questionable ability to hold its own against the Southrons' broadswords and axes after a few whacks made him frown deeply—that Gwen had managed to procure for him, and his servant, looking mildly amused and very much unimpressed with it, was smirking at it and chuckling at something Gwen had said.

Well, that just wouldn't do, would it?

After making a split second decision, Arthur, with a growing smile, called out, "Merlin, wait a moment."

While the servant turned to him with an eyebrow raised in question, Gwen avoided her King's eyes, and instead she dropped the mask she had carefully arranged for Merlin and now watched the secret sorcerer with open curiosity and the smallest hint of perplexity.

So she hadn't _completely_ gotten it, but Arthur knew that it would only be a matter of time before she did.

"Follow me," Arthur said, waving over him over.

Merlin looked vaguely suspicious at his King's widening grin, but he, ever the servant, obeyed his master. Gwen, after a moment's hesitation, warily followed the two men as Arthur weaved through the camp.

The servant easily caught up to Arthur with his long stride, and he asked curiously, "What is it?"

Arthur gave the flimsy chunk of metal (which would no doubt shatter on air, Arthur was convinced) that Merlin still held in his hand a look—complete with a curled lip of disgust and disapproval—and he suddenly paused near the stacks of belongings he, among others, would be leaving in the forest during the battle and crouched down.

"I have something for you," Arthur muttered, searching hurriedly through the pile.

"Of course you do," Merlin snorted in disbelief. "Now, what's the real reason?"

Ignoring the idiot and beginning to wonder why he ever thought that his decision was a good one, Arthur rolled his eyes and finally found what it was he wanted.

He placed the cloth-wrapped weapon in his lap and carefully removed its makeshift sheath, and after twisting it in his hand to examine the blade—it was still finely sharpened—he stood to face Merlin, who was watching him now with both eyebrows disappearing underneath his fringe of dark hair.

Smirking lightly, Arthur took the feeble thing in Merlin's unresisting hands away, hurled it into the forest without acknowledging the resulting "Hey!", and placed in his servant's hands his old sword—the sword that had become an old friend to him, a companion in all of his endeavors and adventures…the very sword that had seen horrors and had tasted the flesh of a large assortment of enemies and monsters, from cockatrices to trolls, from bandits to immortals…the very sword that had saved his life quite a few times over and had become an extension of his arm, a _part_ of him…

Yes, _that_ sword.

Stormy eyes widening and mouth dropping open, Merlin looked from the sword to Arthur, who stood in a contented stance and with arms folded across his chest, in shock, and immediately interpreting his King's expression and actions correctly, he stuttered, "I can't—I can't accept this, Arthur. This is your _best_ sword."

"I'm surprised, Merlin," Arthur teased. "I didn't think you'd know a good sword when you saw it."

Merlin grinned impishly. "You seem to forget that I _have_ been polishing, sharpening, _and_ cleaning this very sword on a daily basis for years now. I would hope that I'd be able to recognize it by now and differentiate it from others."

He tried to hand it back, but Arthur, flushing and now very much aware of Gwen's presence and shining eyes, shook his head furiously. "No, Merlin. Take it."

"I couldn't!" Merlin exclaimed. "Your father gave this to you on the day you came of age…and you've been using it ever since."

Of course Merlin would be the one to understand how he felt about his favorite sword and how much it meant to him, being the last tangible and emotional connection to his deceased father and being the link to most of the memories of his greatest achievements—achievements that would have been _nothing_ without Merlin by his side…

That's what made it all the more fitting in Arthur's eyes.

Impulsively, Arthur gripped Merlin's shoulder. "You may not be a Knight, Merlin, but after all we've been through together, I think it's high time you were bequeathed with your own sword, and since you've led me to find this beauty here…" he trailed off, tapped the hilt of the new weapon in his belt, and shrugged.

"But—"

"Merlin," Arthur said gently, storm- and ocean-blue eyes locking, "Take the damn sword. Fight with it—I almost hate to admit it, but you've improved greatly at handling a sword since our first training bout together…"

"Really?" Merlin interrupted incredulously.

Arthur smirked and finished, "And it's been a mistake on my part to never give you something suitable to defend yourself with…"

_Not that you truly need it,_ he added to himself.

"No, Merlin—" the fool had just been about to interrupt "—listen. I want you to keep it for me. I would much rather it be in the hands of a man I trust… than left abandoned to rust. And I trust you—more than any man."

After studying his King carefully and seeing the total honesty and affection in those sapphire eyes, Merlin's face slowly brightened—like that of the sun finally peeking its glorious light from behind thick clouds—and a large, lopsided smile spread across his face, making his eyes glow and shine with joy.

It didn't escape Arthur's notice, however, that lurking behind that unadulterated, sunny happiness was the smallest sliver of dark guilt and self-loathing…a sign that Merlin felt that he didn't deserve that trust.

It was there and then that Arthur vowed he would do _anything_ to prove Merlin wrong.

"Thank you," Merlin breathed, his voice thick and raspy with unshed tears. "But you shouldn't—"

Eyes twinkling with humor, Arthur quipped, " _Mer_ lin, how many times do I have to tell you? You're not the one to be telling _me_ what I should and should not do."

With playful grey-blue eyes gleaming at the old joke, Merlin's lopsided smile returned, and he tried again, "You really didn't have to."

"No, I didn't have to," Arthur agreed, drawing the younger man into a one-armed hug. "But I _wanted_ to."

Neither one of them noticed Gwen, a witness of the power of the King and sorcerer's bond and a witness of how and why both had grown into the men they were now, smile knowingly, avert her eyes, and brush away the gathering tears.

~…~

Everything was ready. _Everyone_ was ready.

And the time was upon them.

Arthur stood at the head of his fighting force, his sword resting across his right shoulder.

The suspense buzzing through the air was stifling, just as the overwhelming energy was invigorating. The determination emitting from each and every one of them fueled the collective belief in their purpose and drive.

They were fighting against tyranny in its ugliest form. No, it wasn't necessarily the magic. It was the fact that they had been denied the right of living in their own home—denied the right of living in the place they had once been _proud_ to call their home. It was that they had been betrayed by their own and that those traitors had once held a place in their hearts. It was that they had been horribly wronged and that the world as they knew it was in grave danger should the witch remain in power.

Another Purge—a Purge of the nonmagical peoples, for all they knew, was imminent. And everything unhinged and destroyed.

They were ready to fight to prevent all that and more. To avenge their livelihoods and families and friends. To live to see the day when peace settled over the land. To right the wrongs committed by Morgana. To save the people and place they held dear in their hearts from falling to ruin. To remind those who doubted them of the power of loyalty, friendship, and honor. To banish evil from their lands.

For all of this, Arthur fought. But, for one more thing he fought…because of what he had learned…because of Merlin: he fought in the name of whatever good magic—the goodness that been trampled upon and cursed by the vengeful poison of those who used it for evil—remained in this world, and he fought for those magic-practitioners who wished themselves free of the heavy shadow their supposed "kin" had imprisoned them with.

This fight was a fight worth fighting, and Arthur was ready to fight it.

And win.

The King of Camelot raised his sword above his head, and with all eyes on his back, he swung the sword down in one fluid motion.

The signal to advance.

It was time to regain what had been lost and what was rightfully theirs. It was time to retake Camelot.

~…~

It was almost _laughable_ how easily Arthur slipped into the castle. He couldn't be sure how easy it was for Leon and Percival (judging by the _silence_ and the lack of obnoxious noise from the warning bells, he could only assume that things were going quite well on their end), but for _him_ …it was like taking a rattle from a baby.

Only a few men stood in his way on the castle walls. Those—he cut down without so much as a thought, and after Arthur ensured there were none left to raise the alarm and after Merlin and Gwen ensured the death of ones that rolled their way downhill, they had their free pass into the citadel's stronghold.

He was already a quarter of the way to the throne-room, where he knew Morgana and-or Helios would be waiting, when the warning bells finally rang.

_It was pathetic really_ , Arthur thought as he leapt from behind a pillar and stuck a lone Southron guard down before the poor fellow was even aware that there was a sword flashing in his face.

The closer to the throne room he got, however, the more Southrons he faced, and Arthur's recollection of most of the rest of his journey to the throne room was a blur (he had long since retreated into that corner of his mind and allowed his hardened, combat-trained body, instinct, and senses to take over) of fury, fire-lit and sunlit metal, swings and stabs, balance and twists, mouths forming dark caverns and releasing roars of rage, and scarlet.

There was a lot of that. Scarlet. Crimson. Whichever. Blood was blood. At the back of his mind, he was pleased that it was not _his_ scarlet nor the scarlet of his companions—Gwen, Merlin, and the smugglers, whom had somehow joined forces with him at one point or another as he paved his way to the throne room. Another part of him, though happy that it was indeed enemy blood being spilt, was a little annoyed that there was blood at all staining _his_ castle halls.

It was making quite a mess, really.

By the time Arthur and his team reached the throne-room, all of these petty, giddy-from-battle-with-fools-of-men-who-really-didn't-know-how-to-wield-a-sword-and-who-made-this-all-damn-easy (without the same drive and purpose as Arthur, they really stood no chance, after all) thoughts had disappeared. The intensity of his anticipation of meeting Morgana for the first time since she had been exposed as a traitor returned him to himself and forced him into sobriety, and he was fully aware that he was seconds away from the determining moment.

The one moment that would change Camelot's fate for better…or for worse.

Arthur counted five of them guarding the throne room when he slid into the corridor, and as the others gathered behind him, he ordered, "One each. Pick your man."

The guards had just drawn their swords reflexively, and before the King could lose the advantage of catching the Southrons unprepared for them, he charged forward, shouting, "On me!"

He swung left-overhand at the first man, and when the force of the move threw the man off-balance, Arthur shoved him behind him for another to dispose of and drove further into the enemy group.

Despite his orders, Arthur managed to cut down two without trouble, and by the time he swiveled around to fight some more, Tristan and Isolde, back to back, had taken out another. Merlin ( _alone_ , much to Arthur's pride) did as well, and it was Gwen, with a startled expression at how close one of them managed to get to her, who knocked out the last one—the one he had tossed back—with an automatic blow to the head.

Once the last man had fallen to the ground, Arthur looked appreciatively at the sword he wielded and again admired its perfect balance, but when he noticed for the first time that there was not a single nick or scuff or scratch on the blade (most likely courtesy of the magic Arthur knew it held within it), he couldn't help but comment aloud to Merlin, "You know, this thing's not bad."

"Thought you might like it," Merlin quipped, his voice full of irony.

The little light that humor brought to the atmosphere fizzled and died almost immediately as they stood before the great double doors and remembered what it was—or rather _who_ it was they would face beyond those doors, and after looking around at the four resolute faces of his followers and exhaling sharply to calm himself, he asked gently, "Ready?"

Barely waiting for the responding nods and feeling a small trickle of icy fear lace up his spine, Arthur backed up, took another deep breath, and drew strength from his team, and as he drove his shoulder forcefully at the doors, he led them in shouting, "For the love of Camelot!"

They skidded to a halt the moment their momentum faded, and as expected—there he was. Leaning casually against _his_ throne. And there she was. Lounging and slouching lazily in _his_ throne in a manner that reminded him dreadfully of Uther and made rage bubble in the pit of his stomach.

It was Morgana, but it wasn't. The woman before them was not the Morgana he had grown up with nor the one he had come to love as family.

The only thing that remained of the Morgana he knew was the aura of confidence surrounding her, but even that was tainted by the poison of her darker ambitions. This Morgana, from head to toe, _radiated_ evil. Her raven curls, once sleek and beautiful, were half-piled onto her head in a wild, unmanageable style, and the black dress she wore—so unlike the regal, colorful dresses Arthur was used to seeing—was tattered, torn, and raggedy. But it was her pale green eyes, cold and merciless and glinting with a ruthless amusement, and bitter smirk that hit Arthur directly in the heart.

The Morgana he knew was no more. This was the witch. This was his enemy.

She, true to her character, spoke first in a tone as chilly as her eyes and as bitterly amused as her smirk, "Welcome, dear brother. It's been far too long."

Hearing her speak sent a spear of pity slicing through his heart, and he watched with a growing frown as she, with no obvious sign of wanting to attack just yet and with every intention to gloat, stood gracefully and began to close the distance between them.

"I apologize if you had a difficult reception," she mocked as she strode. "It's hard to know who to trust these days."

That was a _very_ low blow, but a pained Arthur kept his face as blank as possible as he took a few steps forward to meet her and as he lifted his sword, palm out and open, to prove that he was not going to attack either.

While she watched his movements with wary and calculative eyes, he slipped the sword into his belt and found himself face to face with her—so close that an outsider might have never guessed that they were enemies.

No, they stood like this in memory of what they once were to each other, and it was that memory—the memory of a stubborn girl who was brave and who defiantly stood up for what was right…now replaced by a woman filled with hate and a lust for power and vengeance—that cracked Arthur's stoic mask. It was the memory and her softening eyes that allowed him to express his grief for what had been lost.

And it was magic that did this? No. Not entirely. He wondered how it had come to this when he _knew_ that it was not magic to blame…not when there was Merlin to compare her to.

He didn't want this. He knew what could've been and loathed that it couldn't be.

"What happened to you, Morgana?" Arthur asked softly.

It was incredible how vulnerable she looked in that one moment, and though she did not lower her softening eyes from his—she too knew that there was no return—he suspected that there was some part of her that wanted to.

"I thought we were friends."

"As did I," Morgana agreed, her voice gentle. Suddenly, however, her eyes flooded with cold hatred, and her tone became dark as she snarled quietly, "But alas, we were both wrong."

"You can't blame me," Arthur said hoarsely, trying in vain to appeal to whatever piece of warmth was left in her heart, "for my father's sins."

The resulting smile and breathy chuckle was humorless and dangerous. "It's a little late for that. You've made it perfectly clear how you feel about me and my kind."

Regret flashed through Arthur at the words.

"You're not as different," she jabbed, "from Uther as you'd like to think."

"Nor are you," Arthur immediately retorted, reminding her of their shared parentage and seeing much more of him in her than he did in himself.

That, apparently, was the _wrong_ thing to say.

Her frigid eyes hardened to stone, and her lips twitched in her fury. "I'm going to enjoy killing you, Arthur Pendragon," she snarled as she backed away slowly. "Not even Emrys," she spat in disdain, "can save you now."

After Arthur, who started in recognition of the Druidic name, quickly dismissed his interest and shock and who fitted his emotionless, determined mask back in place, boldly drew his sword again—their little truce had very obviously come to its end—and felt the others prepare themselves, a broad, mocking smile spread across Morgana's face, and she said cockily, "Your blades cannot stop me."

A pinch of worry dripped into Arthur's mind when Morgana, summoning her power, lowered her head and closed her eyes, but he held fast, crouched with muscles coiled and ready to spring out of the way of a magical attack, and thought in a mixture of desperateness and hopefulness, _Your time to shine, Merlin. Please. Don't let me down._

Merlin had never once let him down.

Morgana, who now had Helios at her shoulder, raised her eyes and commanded in the tongue of the Old Religion, "Hleap on bæc."

Arthur tensed in expectation of the spell, and after such a melodramatic scene, it wasn't surprising that he did so. In fact, it was quite sensible. What _was_ shocking was that _nothing_ happened.

And Morgana knew it before he did. She turned half-way to Helios with panic beginning to seep into her eyes and turned back to stare at the group, who shifted in confusion at the lack of magic.

Still wary, Arthur stayed low and frowned as he resisted the urge to look back at Merlin, and he wondered if it had all been a fluke or if—

Raising her arm towards them, Morgana cried again, "Hleap on bæc!"

Again, nothing happened, and while the powerless witch stared in disbelief at her hand, her brow furrowed in confusion and fear.

This—this was _no_ fluke. And there was only one explanation for this bloody _amazing_ advantage.

_Merlin, you_ wonderful, _brilliant sorcerer, you._

"Not so powerful now, my Lady," Arthur said, managing to hide his relief and to bite back a giddy bark of gleeful laughter.

With icy green eyes wide, Morgana looked up and did not resist as Helios grabbed her wrist and gently yanked her, gasping in her panic, behind him.

As Helios eyed Arthur, Morgana, defenseless and afraid for her life, turned to flee. Without thinking, the King looked over his shoulder to Merlin and ordered, "After her!"

Immediately, Merlin _and_ Gwen responded to his command and dashed off after the witch. The overprotective worrier, which he most often _denied_ to having and often _refused_ to admit he had, in him wished he could have gone with them, but judging from the look in Helios' eyes and by the way he had just _let_ Gwen and Merlin rush after Morgana, Arthur knew that there was absolutely no way he could take a single step out of the throne room without first killing the Southron warlord.

One of them was going to die. There and now.

There was a scuffling behind him, and when he turned to see Southron guards rushing in, the only warning he had of Helios' sudden attack was a war-cry.

Thank _gods_ for battle reflexes.

He parried Helios' vicious overhand swing just in time, and instinctively, he pressed forward with a flurry of moves himself in order to gauge his opponent's strengths and weaknesses.

By the time Arthur and Helios crossed swords for a second time, the King had completely evaluated the Southron and knew _exactly_ what kind of warrior he was facing.

After one crafty side-cut, Arthur unlocked his blade from Helios' and crouched low to swing his sword in a great arc. Helios, not expecting the speed of the move, jumped back to recover from his loss of balance.

The King, who found himself back to back with the two smugglers, shot a quick, appreciative glance at them, and he quickly reviewed what it was he had learnt from those initial blows.

He was fighting a proud man—so proud that he could be dubbed a hothead—with one of the shortest fuses he had ever encountered. This was Helios' greatest weakness, and if the King succeeded in getting him riled up, it would lead him to make mistakes, and mistakes were what Arthur needed to win this fight.

Because Helios' strengths—his brutality, his experience, the shattering power he put into his blows…Each of them counteracted Arthur's own strengths—his speed, his stamina, his superior training…

Overall, their skillfulness was an even match.

Exhaling heavily, Helios gestured mockingly at him, and Arthur threw himself angrily at the Southron.

They exchanged blows furiously, one movement flowing smoothly into the next, and the clanging and _shing_ ing of swords soon made Arthur's head ring. Sweat beaded at his temples and rushed down his face, stinging his eyes and dampening his hair, and his rib, still not fully healed, throbbed more painfully with each parry of every crushing strike Helios sent his way.

After one particularly _strong_ overhand blow from Helios, whose attacks seemed to becoming less and less strategic and more and more random as their battle continued, Arthur was forced onto one knee, and gasping, he braced his injured rib with an arm and swung his sword habitually before leaping back at the Southron with a forceful yell.

Ah, there was another strength Helios had that Arthur had forgotten to mention—he was not an honorable fighter and was not afraid to play dirty.

When Helios twisted his sword artfully and managed to lock Arthur's sword and when he took advantage of the opportunity to punch Arthur with all of his might across the jaw, it became quite clear to him how badly he underestimated that in his evaluation.

Dammit. If he survived this, he would never again underestimate.

Vision blurring and head pounding, Arthur lost sensation in his legs, and he fell to the floor, only just managing to block one brutal cut from Helios, who just so happened to knock Arthur's sword out of his weak grip directly after that last noble attempt from the fallen King.

Unable to do more than keep himself upright on one elbow and blink away the remaining stinging of Helios' punch, Arthur looked up defiantly into the eyes of his soon-to-be murderer, and he hoped that with his death—Helios was gripping the sword above his head with both hands now—the son of a bitch would be killed in retaliation and Merlin, Gwen, everyone… would be _free_.

He didn't want to die in vain. _Anything_ but that.

That was his last prayer, and as he, regretting all that could have been that never would be, finally accepted his death, there was the unmistakable sound of a blade slicing through leather and flesh. Helios' eyes suddenly bugged from their sockets, and he gasped, his breath rattling in his throat…

It almost happened in slow motion. Arthur saw Helios begin to fall, and his dying action—in a severe, sharp twisting motion, he stabbed the sword around his failing body towards his savior…

And somehow, _miraculously_ , Tristan's sword was there to protect Isolde, the killer of Helios, from being killed herself (1).

Helios' body hit the floor with a loud thump, and the after-silence was deafening as the three, having realized that with Morgana fleeing and Helios dead… _they had practically won_ , stared at the enemy's body and then at each other in turn.

Finally, Isolde exhaled shakily and offered her hand to Arthur, who took it with his sapphire eyes glowing with thankfulness, and the King whispered, "Thank you. Both of you. Thank you."

The female smuggler smiled and breathed a small chuckle, and after flinging herself into Tristan's waiting embrace and kissing him fervently, she turned back to the King of Camelot and said, "I'm glad I wasn't too slow. For a second I thought…" she shook her head. "If you had died, Arthur…"

"If _you_ had died…" Tristan suddenly muttered into her neck, tears of relief gathering in his eyes. "Tricky bastard. I don't know what I would've done if I lost you, Isolde."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Tristan smiled, and he, regaining his sarcastic humor and tweaking her nose, teased, "For an outlawed smuggler, you sure are selfless."

"Both of you are. Without either of you," Arthur said gently, "none of this would've been possible. And Camelot and I owe you—"

The King was interrupted by several knights, who had obviously been sent by Leon and Percival (they must've still been with the weak prisoners) to signify that their mission in the dungeons was a success as well as to help control the situation.

Suddenly, a jolt of fear flashed through the pit of Arthur's gut (how long had it been since he sent Merlin and Gwen after Morgana? It felt _far_ too long), and he, picking up the sword he had lost in battle with Helios and shaking his head, which still buzzed annoyingly, to clear it, shouted, "Hold the throne room and arrest the Southrons remaining!"

He began to sprint from the room, and he heard Tristan call out from behind him, "And where the hell are you going?"

"I need to go after Morgana and help secure her before she escapes!" he responded over his shoulder.

At first, he ran blindly, but soon, he found a bloody trail of slain Camelotian men and droplets of blood—her blood—to follow. Once the trail ended, however, he made a logical, hurried guess about the direction she was headed and ran as fast as his injuries would allow him.

He was still too slow.

The King _heard_ the sound of clashing swords and loud talking—of _two_ females—before he saw them, and barely registering that Merlin was no where in sight and no where to be heard, Arthur, with a pounding heart and burning lungs, dove around the corner…

He stopped dead in his tracks and pressed himself into an indention in the wall where no one would see him, knowing that any sudden movement or appearance from him would surely result in _her_ death and realizing how lucky he was that the other hadn't spotted him already and hadn't immediately finished the job.

For he had just seen Morgana disarm Gwen, whose back was to him, and the witch, eyes narrowed in disdain and loathing, point her sword directly at her throat.

Her life flashed before his eyes, and in his mind's eye, he saw her smile—a smile he hadn't seen in an inexcusable amount of time. A smile that set his heart on fire. A smile that made her warm brown eyes sparkle and dance. A smile gentle, kind, and pure…

Guinevere's smile. He had missed it, and he'd be _damned_ if he didn't see it again.

She couldn't die. She _couldn't_.

Tears formed in his eyes at the thought of her ceasing to exist. Not banished and alive elsewhere. Not living in Ealdor away from Camelot.

Dead. Gone forever.

He couldn't bear that.

He had let her walk away once too many times, and now, he, with all his heart and soul, regretted it.

An idiot. A fool. Arthur swallowed heavily over the thick lump in his throat.

It was a bloody shame that he had to see Gwen's life threatened to come to the realization that what had happened between them that resulted in her exile meant absolutely _nothing_ to him anymore _._

She was _not_ going to die. Life was nothing—Camelot was nothing without her.

Gwen couldn't die. Not by Morgana's hand.

He'd give _anything_ to see that smile again...to feel her lips press against his...

Frantic and hyperventilating, Arthur's thoughts tumbled over and over as he scrabbled for one last, crazy idea, _anything_ that might save the woman he loved…

Morgana pulled back the sword to thrust it into Gwen's chest…

"No!" Arthur shouted wordlessly.

And she lunged for the kill only to be blasted back off her feet by an unseen, _powerful_ force that caused the very stonework of the threshold above to crash to the floor…

He hadn't noticed Merlin's head of tousled raven hair peeking out from a corridor in front of him.

_Merlin. Thank_ gods.

The waterfall of relief crashing down upon him made him sink to his knees, and while he took a few deep, wavering breaths and pursed his lips in a useless attempt to contain tears, he heard Merlin ask Gwen, "Are you alright?"

Arthur, wiping his tears and not picking himself up from the ground, looked around his section of wall to see Merlin comfortingly gripping Gwen, who was no doubt staring in shock at the blockade of masonry and fighting to calm a racing heart, on the arm.

She looked at him, and Arthur felt a burst of pride at the strength in her voice when she answered, "Yes."

Merlin placed himself protectively in front of her as he surveyed the damage, but he immediately froze when Gwen asked him in a demanding, slightly fearful voice, "What happened?"

She knew.

The sorcerer's shoulders tensed at the question, but without hesitation, he twirled around. Skipping lightly around Gwen, whose wide eyes followed him in stunned amazement, he avoided her question and instead muttered, "She _must_ have been knocked out. I need to go around and watch her before she wakes. Get Arthur for me!"

Rooted to the spot, Gwen spluttered, and he sprinted away without another look in her direction.

Once he was out of sight, Gwen, whose chest rose and fell with increasing speed, slowly backed herself against a wall and begin to tremble…

Arthur was there to steady her before she could collapse, and he, shushing her tearless sobs, a result of the shock of survivor's-relief and the revelation itself, pulled her to his chest.

"I'm glad you're safe," he told her.

"That—that was magic," Gwen stammered, not fully registering her King's words. "Arthur, that was magic. It—Oh my gods…"

He pet the back of her head and tentatively kissed her crown, "I know, Gwen. I know."

Gwen looked up at him with wide eyes, and Arthur smirked lightly, "But you suspected, didn't you?"

There was no need for Gwen to answer, and instead, she mumbled into his chest, "Merlin…this whole time."

Arthur placed two fingers under her chin and gently raised her head so that her eyes met his. "Everything will be alright," he said assuredly, imbuing those few words with a vast amount of meaningfulness and promise. "We _won_. All thanks to him."

A slow smile spread across her face, and Arthur, who had just been terrified he'd never see that smile again, felt as though he had taken a breath of fresh air and felt… _whole_ for the first time in a long time.

Suddenly, the smile faded and was replaced by a shadow of unease, and biting her bottom lip, she seemed to finally became aware of their intimacy.

"Arthur," Gwen began, her voice thick with remorse and guilt.

Before she could pull away, however, Arthur squeezed her hand and helped her stand, saying, "C'mon. We need to catch up with Merlin."

"What are you going to do?" Gwen asked warily as they began to walk.

He didn't answer and instead, having caught a flash of scarlet from his peripheral vision, peered out a window to see the remaining Southrons kneeling in surrender before his soldiers, and heard people beginning to cheer. At that moment, three Camelotian guards, who distracted him from the view below, passed them, grinningly saluted to him, and exclaimed in glee, "Long live the King!"

Smiling broadly and feeling _free_ from all worry and undeniably happy at the reminder of their victory, Arthur nodded at them and returned a salute of mutual respect, and once they had turned a corner, he answered, "About Morgana? If I assume that she didn't manage to somehow slip past Merlin and is indeed unconscious, I'm going to have to imprison her for the time being…keep her drugged, perhaps? I don't know. Gods knows how long Merlin's enchantment on her will last…"

Gwen started in surprise at Arthur's casual reference to Merlin's magic, and she mused, "So _that's_ what he was doing last night."

Arthur hummed in response.

"Are you not… _angry?"_ she wondered aloud in astonishment.

The question made him pause, and he turned to face her with unreadable sapphire eyes. "I was," he began slowly, "but then…" Arthur shook his head. "Later, Guinevere. There are some things that must be done first, and then we'll talk. Alone. About it all. In the meantime…nothing has changed. I know enough to know that he'd faint dead away if we revealed to him out of the blue what we knew, and I, being the selfish man I am, do need him awake for the time being."

In light of her exile and the horrible, heartbreaking way in which the two lovers had parted, it was understandable that she would appear stunned and confused by his alternatively serious and teasing words, and her brow pinched together. "But—"

"Gwen," Arthur said in a voice cracking with emotion. He wanted to touch her hair, to pull her close and never let go, but considering how overwhelmed she was by his apparent forgiveness of her and his clear _invitation_ for herto remain in Camelot despite her banishment, he thought it'd be better if he didn't.

"I nearly lost you today. I don't plan on losing you again."

~…~

They walked in an almost awkward silence until they found Merlin sitting on a fallen piece of stonework, his elbows resting on his knees and his chin resting on his knuckles. He was staring at Morgana, who was still unconscious and who had a wide, torn piece of dress wrapped around her middle—judging by the way it was beginning to become speckled with wetness, it was obvious that Merlin had tried to stop a wound from bleeding out—with a severe, dark expression on his face and with unfathomably conflicted, pained, and _deep_ stormy blue eyes.

Despite the darkness in Merlin's countenance—a darkness that was _so_ out of character and dangerous that it had both Gwen and Arthur slightly wary to approach—there was something so… Seeing him and Morgana, side by side, it seemed all the easier for Arthur to compare and contrast.

But there was that damn question of _how_ and _why_ they, so similar in their talents, ended up becoming polar opposites.

Because it amazed and totally baffled Arthur that it should be so.

Upon their approach, those kaleidoscopic eyes flashed with sudden anger and then pity, and he drew up his knees to hug them to his chest. Without looking their way as they halted next to him, he said quietly yet forcefully, "It shouldn't have come to this."

Arthur knew he was referring to Morgana's abuse of magic just as much as he was talking about her betrayal, and while he squeezed his friend's shoulder, Gwen took one of his hands.

Together, they looked at the witch and shared the bittersweet moment of victory and loss.

Merlin released a heavy breath and said, "But she chose this path. And Destiny's cruel."

"I've learnt to trust in Destiny," Arthur muttered for the second time that day.

For some reason, the words touched Merlin, and his servant looked at him with shimmering eyes and a hint of a knowledgeable smile.

"We're lucky that she lost her powers," Arthur said nonchalantly, looking down at the pale face of his half-sister. After seeing Merlin's jaw twitch and eyes avoid his, he added slowly, "For whatever reason that may be."

"Very lucky," Merlin agreed with a weak smile.

Gwen rose a delicate eyebrow at him, but catching on to Arthur's motives, she said cleverly, "We should take her away now…who knows when her power could return to her."

Merlin's face was blank as he shrugged, but his eyes betrayed his worry and proved that he, too, really hadn't a clue on how long his enchantment would last.

_Merlin_ , _as brilliant as you can be…you really are an idiot._

"Of course," Arthur muttered seriously. He scooped Morgana into his arms and surveyed her injuries as they began to speed-walk away.

"Merlin?" he said emotionlessly. "Will she recover?"

Merlin sighed and said bluntly, "Yes. She has a concussion and that sword wound…it's not too serious. And her magic'll help her heal."

The King nodded once, not questioning the judgment. "Since you're Gaius' apprentice," he started, "and since you're probably the only one with enough experience and knowledge of the physician's craft to trust with this task, I give you leave to care for the wounded, and I'll summon others to help work under your order until Gaius—" he swallowed suddenly and choked off his sudden, depressing thought before it could manifest fully "—can take over."

"Me?" Merlin asked incredulously. "Surely, there's someone—"

"Yes, _you_ ," Arthur said. "I can afford to relieve you of your servant duties while I oversee Camelot's healing—there's far more important things you could be doing with your time than serving me, besides—and there's no one better for the job."

The sorcerer's blue eyes shone, and he, in a rare display of subservience, which only occurred when he was honored and wanted to express how much he respected Arthur, bowed his head. "Of course, Arthur. I'll do all I can."

"That's all I ask."

"I'll help, Merlin," Gwen offered, her voice thick with compassion.

Arthur was proud of her. After being nearly stabbed by one she had once considered a dear friend, discovering her best friend had magic, and being indirectly accepted back into Camelot by her King, she was strong enough to put aside all personal tragedies (if they could be called that) and instead think of others.

The servant beamed. "Thanks, Gwen. Could you possibly prepare an infirmary for me? Find some people to help you. Hopefully, most of your work will be done for you already, and hopefully, the injured are already gathered. I'll be along after I raid Gaius' stores."

Gwen, her face serious, nodded, and started off briskly in a different direction.

"Thank you, Merlin," Arthur suddenly said. His words made Guinevere pause in her tracks and listen.

Merlin, confused, halted and asked, "Whatever for? _You_ won this battle, Arthur." He smiled broadly, his joyfulness apparent. "It might not be the last battle in this war, but this victory will be remembered…until the end of time."

Arthur and Gwen exchanged a brief look of amazement at Merlin's humbleness and bizarre wisdom, and the King, smirking at his friend, said, "No, Merlin. Without you to keep me from..."

"Drowning in self-pity?" Merlin supplied with a cheeky grin after watching Arthur flounder for suitable words.

The King blinked and drawled in half-exasperation and half-amusement, "You know, you're making it very difficult to be grateful to you, _Mer_ lin."

" _There_ 's the prat I know."

"Only _you_ , Merlin," Gwen mumbled, shaking her head.

Suddenly, Percival appeared, panting, and reported gleefully and speedily, "Arthur, the men are waiting for you, the people are rejoicing, the Southrons are in the dungeons, there were few casualties on our end and none at all out of those that had been imprisoned—" all three of them, who had been trying and failing to retain their intense worry about Gaius, Elyan, and Gwaine, in particular, exhaled loudly in relief "—and the wounded and ailing are being sent to our makeshift infirmary in the council chamb—is that Morgana?"

Startled by Pericival's abrupt question, Arthur looked down at the woman he held and shifted her into the giant of a Knight's arms, saying, "Thank you, Perce. Take her to the infirmary, but keep her separate from everyone. And don't let her out of your sight until Merlin arrives with his supplies. She'll be dealt with later."

Percival took the orders without question, and he led Gwen back the way he had come.

Merlin, too, was about to rush away, but Arthur stopped him with a quick, "Once she's cared for, make sure she's put under constant watch in the cells. If necessary, drug her. I don't want her awake just yet."

"Yes, Sire."

It wasn't until Merlin scurried gawkily off that Arthur realized just how much he had entrusted to his friend.

~…~

He had a lot of work to do.

The retaking of Camelot took little under two hours, and after addressing the people and his men with an inspirational speech, which received much cheering, he began to give out orders.

Surprisingly little was damaged, and thankfully, Morgana and Helios had already fixed anything that had been ruined during their _own_ attack. Guards had been set and assigned to their shifts, the people, with every intention to celebrate, returned to their homes, volunteers stepped up to help work in the infirmary, the witch was carefully restrained…and Arthur, exhausted but elated, oversaw everything, offered his help wherever and whenever possible, and gave commands when needed.

It was a collaborative effort, and Arthur was proud of how everyone and everything began to settle back to normal.

He would have stayed up all night, but he made the mistake of visiting the infirmary and talking with the injured. A fussing, overprotective Gwen and Merlin had seen him wince once when he accidentally overextended his side, and they immediately ordered him to be subjected to an evaluation, which resulted in an exasperated Merlin binding his ribs professionally, and then ordered to sleep for at least a few hours.

After a petty argument that had most of the occupants of the room staring, chuckling, or teasing (that one was courtesy of _Gwaine_ , who, though weak from the horrors he had been subjected to, was still being Gwaine), he made the condition that they also get some sleep, and they soothed him by promising to take shifts and ensure that the other slept.

Arthur ended up falling asleep right there in the infirmary, and as he slipped into the land of dreams, he couldn't help but smile and think that, for now, all was well (2).

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) A shout out to those who asked me to not kill off Isolde. You know who you are. ;) I hope you liked how I did it, even if it was VERY unrealistic.
> 
> (2) I can't take credit for that ending line because *spoiler* J.K. Rowling used it so brilliantly to finish off Deathly Hallows. *end spoiler*


	5. Scene V: Understanding Emrys (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: any lyrics I use in the following chapters do not belong to me

* * *

_No one could ever know me, no one could ever see me_

_Since you're the only one who knows what it's like to be me_

_Someone to face the day with, make it through all the rest with_

_Someone I'll always laugh with_

_Even at my worst, I'm best with you, yeah."_

_(Song: "I'll Be There For You [Theme from Friends] from The Remembrandts' 1995 ablum LP_ _)_

* * *

**~Part I: Gwen~**

A few days had passed before Arthur even considered going back to his own bedchambers.

During those days, the King hadn't had personal contact with Merlin or Gwen, who he _needed_ to talk to about their relationship _and_ the aforementioned sorcerer before he could tackle the confrontation he knew he was only prolonging. In fact, he hadn't even had the chance to _see_ them, for he had been ushered into meetings by the elder councilors the day after the battle and had since been barred from the outside world.

Well, that wasn't entirely true.

George, the insufferable and overly perfect servant, had once brought him some fresh clothes—courtesy of Merlin, apparently, who had nearly run a very irritated George over in the corridor with said clothes in hand and who had thereafter asked George to look after Arthur for him, much to the stuffy servant's honor and pleasure—to change into, and he had been helped out of his armor, which was in need of a desperate polishing, and his sweaty, dirty, travel-stained tunic and trousers, which were in need of a desperate washing. Arthur himself hadn't had the luxury of a bath yet, and all that he had had to eat was what snacks the kitchen-servants carried in from time to time. The only others allowed in and out of those chambers besides those servants were the messengers and the higher-ranking senior knights (Leon, in particular), who constantly flitted in with news for the council and out with orders for various people in Camelot.

Well, to speak the truth, Arthur, who was flooded with _paperwork,_ of all things, and whose mind spun with suggestions on what to do with Morgana, like the good King he was, had put aside all personal matters and had hardly given Gwen or Merlin a passing thought in those meetings… unless, of course, either of them had sent news to him directly from the infirmary. Indeed, he hardly realized that he had passed the few days in council meetings with absolutely no sleep and with little attention paid to feeding himself, but that was reasonable, seeing as the work to be done was far from boring and made the hours speed by.

So when Arthur, with a growling stomach and rushing head, was released into the world again, he was bewildered to discover that he'd been stuck in those chambers not for a few hours (as he had thought and could have _sworn_ ) but _well_ over forty-eight hours.

In those forty-eight hours, all of the people held in captivity, while still working past their own personal demons and still regaining the physical strength that they had lost, were beginning to get up and about, much to Arthur's glee.

In those forty-eight hours, there had been mourning as well as celebration, but soon enough, the natural rhythm of Camelot had been restored. Knights were out in the training fields, guards were patrolling, Tristan and Isolde were staying as guests in the castle and helping where they could, and the market of the Lower Town was once again bustling.

In those forty-eight hours, it had been decided.

The Southrons who yielded to King Arthur were to wait in the dungeons until diplomats from their own country came to bargain for their freedom and pay retribution for the crimes committed against Camelot by their leader Helios. Those who refused to yield, which was a majority, unfortunately, were to be beheaded.

Morgana, on the other hand, after being submitted to severe questioning by the King, was to burn.

Full of pity, Arthur, who grimly acknowledged that the witch was too dangerous to live and that she had crossed the point of no return long ago, had tried to convince them that, in memory of what she once was to Camelot, the more merciful execution of beheading was more fitting for her, but they would not hear of it.

 _She has magic, so she must burn_ , they had argued fiercely. _The witch must burn_.

No, fiercely was too kind a word. _Ruthlessly_ might be a better one. _Fanatically_ would be another.

It had made him cringe—knowing that they were also indirectly condemning _Merlin_ , Morgana's bane and foil, to the same fate.

He hated to agree, and he felt _weak_ for submitting to them—all of those who shouted for the pyre to be lit. Burning alive…people believed it was the only way to cleanse sorcerers of magic and was therefore the only _true_ way to kill them. It was a superstition that Arthur's father had allowed to grow.

Arthur himself had always found it inhumane, and while he wouldn't wish it upon anyone, he then realized that the one to die was inhuman herself… and nothing short of a monster. Thus, the memories of the girl he knew were promptly dismissed, and only the wounds inflicted onto Camelot, its people, and himself remained.

Though it hurt and though it was one of the most difficult internal conflicts of morality he had ever had to overcome, he finally decided that if there was one person who deserved to burn for her crimes, for the pain she had caused, and for the evil she had in her heart, it was the witch.

So, after Morgana finally decided to wake up (she had not yet woken, and Arthur highly suspected Merlin had something to do about that) and after the King had his dreaded chat with her, she would die the next dawn.

Weariness suddenly flooded the King, and rubbing his eyes and sighing, he finally decided that he couldn't possibly make it back to his own bedchambers, which he had been quite looking forward to seeing once again. Instead, much to the bewilderment of George, who had been following him like a shadow, he stumbled into the nearest guest chambers, pulled off his shirt, and mumbled an order to the servant about waking him after a few hours' nap.

It was rather sad that Arthur, whose sense of time, as he knew, was horribly distorted, didn't even realize that it was midnight, that it would be quite acceptable for him to actually _sleep_ instead of nap, and that he wouldn't be needed at all before dawn, which is when he would have been woken should George have followed his half-coherent orders.

Needless to say, despite the orders, George let his King sleep.

~…~

When Arthur awoke the next morning to bright sunlight, he was refreshed and in a very cheery mood. He did have to admit to growing rather annoyed when a guilty George insisted upon endlessly apologizing for disobeying his orders and repeating his logic for disobeying those orders, however, but that annoyance vanished like dewdrops in the summer sun once he saw the food, which he did not hesitate to begin shoveling down (an action that would have no doubt had Merlin teasing him about his weight had he been present), that George had been so kind as to bring him.

So it was less than an hour later that Arthur _finally_ strode into his own bedchambers.

Only to find them a wreck.

For a moment, he was darkly amused. Of _course_ Morgana would have a bit of fun throwing a magical tantrum in his chambers—he would bet that Uther's old chambers were worse off than his own—and of _course_ Merlin would neglect to so much as pick up a knocked over chair when he came to grab him fresh clothes.

Which was exactly what Gwen was doing when he stepped through the threshold. Righting a chair, that is.

For some reason, it wasn't so surprising that he found her there, and butterflies fluttered in his stomach. He wasn't nervous, per se, but he was _finally_ going to resolve some things that needed to be resolved…It was time for truths, and the King was both excited and anxious to confront them.

His eyes softened as she faced him and said with a small smile, "It will take some time."

From the way her eyes danced and the way her head titled, it was clear that she meant that the room's cleaning would take time, but Arthur, whose leg jostled to release some of his restless energy, took it to mean several things.

Yes, between Merlin, his secret sorcerer, and Gwen, his banished love…it would _definitely_ take some time.

However, after Arthur looked around once more at the poor state of his room and closed the door behind him, he responded as though he were talking only of the mess before them and teased subtly, "Merlin can take care of it."

A small smirk flitted across her lips, and she, looking around, said, "I bet with a few words and a snap of his fingers…"

She trailed off thoughtfully, and Arthur joked, "He won't need even that. I saw him throw Morgana without a single word."

When she released a puff of breath and avoided his eyes, he asked softly, "How have you been?"

Her brown eyes flitted from the fallen curtain she had been staring at to him, and with a guarded look suddenly sliding to shield her emotions, she shifted away from him and said, "Arthur, I—I really don't think—"

"Guinevere." He gave her a pointed look. "Whatever's happened between us—"

Her meticulous mask crumbled with pain, and she begged hoarsely, "Please, Arthur, I can't forgive myself."

"I don't care," he said with shining ocean-blue eyes. "I forgave you, Gwen, and I know it takes time to learn to forgive one's self, but, for the moment, I want you to forget everything and just…talk to me. Without qualm. As friends, at the very least."

The little smile on her face was hesitant, but she said, "I think I'd like that." With a hint of her humor returning to her, she added, "We do have a lot to talk about, don't we?"

"We do." Smirking lightly in acquiescence, he tried again. "Now tell me: how have you been?"

With her small smile growing bolder, she responded, "Fine, thank you. The infirmary's been mostly cleared of charges, thanks to Merlin. He really has been a godsend, and it amazes me how—" she shook her head suddenly. Arthur had to agree with her. It certainly was amazing how knowledgeable Merlin had become in the art of healing "—Gaius couldn't be more proud of him."

"I'm glad to hear of it, Guinevere," Arthur said truthfully. "But you know that's not what I meant."

She flushed and bit her lower lip. "I have watched him work," Gwen began slowly, "I have watched him joke with Gwaine and the other Knights, I have watched him when he spoke of you to others, I have watched his eyes during it all…Arthur, it's _him_." Her voice cracked and lowered in volume, and tears started to shine in her eyes. "I mean, it's as though nothing had changed."

"Did you expect it to?"

"I don't know what I expected," she admitted. "I was confused. Horribly confused. I can't even describe in words… I do know that I did expect _something_ to be different. I think I suspected it all to be…an act."

While Arthur did not miss the tone of shame and guilt in her voice for having doubted him, he comforted her by taking her hand, and suddenly, a weak, watery chuckle escaped her lips.

"It may sound absolutely ridiculous and silly, but I never thought I'd be so happy to see him trip over his own feet and grumble about it afterwards."

Arthur chuckled, and after the vague, wry smile at the corners of her lips vanished, she mumbled, "I had been afraid for him. I thought…he might turn. Like Morgana."

Arthur inhaled sharply, and his face hardened to stone. "Don't even compare the two," he warned, "like that."

Gwen, forgetting herself, rubbed his arm soothingly and stumbled over her words in an attempt to explain that her half-hearted suspicions were completely and utterly unfounded and _wrong_ , but he said over her fragmented sentences in a considerably gentler tone, "He was _born_ with it, Gwen. He's had it this whole time."

Her hand froze on his bicep and mouth moved with unasked questions, and he felt the surprise stiffening her limbs.

"I heard him say so himself."

"That—that can't be possible?" she finally gasped, removing her hand from his arm and replacing it on her forehead. "But yes, yes, it can be. It explains a lot."

"About the sword?" Arthur asked with a cocked eyebrow when her eyes drifted to where the sword hung from his hip.

"Yes, the sword," she said in a hushed tone. "I'm not surprised that you noticed my reaction to it. May I?"

Eyes skipping around her face, the King slipped it out of its sheath and put the hilt in her hands.

With the practiced grace of one who understood swords, the blacksmith's daughter examined all of its properties, tested its balance, ran her fingers along the flat of the blade, and gently revolved it in her hands so that it caught the light.

"This was the best sword my father ever made," she said, raising the tip upward so that she could see the golden markings clearly.

"Your father?" Arthur asked in shock.

She nodded absently, brown eyes locked on the sword. "Despite these markings...at first I thought I was mistaken, but I would know it anywhere."

"How in blazes did Merlin come about it, then?"

For a moment, Gwen's eyes glazed over with misty memories, and after they snapped back with a clear light, she responded, "Years ago—it had to have been mere months after Merlin first arrived in Camelot—he came to me, desperate and urgent, and asked me for a sword. _This_ sword. 'To protect Arthur,' he had said."

Gwen smiled. "I gave it to him. I knew my father would be furious, but there was something so…earnest in his eyes and voice. I believed him, especially since everyone was afraid for you. You were about to fight the wraith, you remember?"

Arthur, whose mind was floating back to that time and who was astonished to learn that even _then_ —when Merlin had hardly known him and was only just beginning to adjust to Arthur's less-than-lovely temperament and the equally as lovely duties of a servant—he had had his unfaltering loyalty and protection, and momentarily unable to formulate words as he pulled away from the memories, he answered a few heartbeats late. "…I do. Gaius had said it was unable to be killed."

"And yet it _was_ killed. By Uther..." Realization dawned on her face, and she said, "Because your father took your place, if we assume that it _was_ Merlin's magic—"

"There's no denying that there's some magic in the blade, Gwen," he interrupted. "Be it Merlin's or whoever's. It needs no sharpening, I've noticed."

She blinked. "Right, well, whosever power it was… _that_ made it possible for this sword to kill something already dead. Merlin obviously intended for you to use it to face the wraith but—"

"Allowed Uther to use it instead," Arthur finished for her.

The story they had formulated together (with the few pieces of fact that they actually _had_ ) was hardly shocking to the King—nor did it appear to be to Gwen—but it made him all the more eager to know how much of their speculation was true and all the more curious to actually _speak_ with Merlin about it.

"If that is true," Arthur muttered, thinking aloud, "it only makes me wonder why the hell Merlin found it a good idea to stab it into a bloody stone in a random secluded clearing in the middle of the forest."

Yep, it sounded just as—if not more— _mental_ out loud as it did in his head.

Arthur rubbed his forehead with the balls of his palms and mumbled, "He's an idiot. I'm never going to understand what the hell goes through that mind of his."

For the first time since _before_ Gwen's exile, he heard her laugh gaily and brightly, a sound that made his heart swell and _thud-dud_ with increasing volume and speed, and handing back the sword, she said, "Well, whatever else this sword has seen while resting in Merlin's hands—he's kept it safe for its true master."

"In a chunk of solid rock," Arthur reminded her again. "Tell me that's not strange, Gwen."

She laughed. "All I know is that if someone had told me," she said slowly, "how great a destiny it would have and how incredible a legend it would carry with it, I would have never believed it... Even if it _didn't_ end up in as strange a place as a 'chunk of solid rock,'" she mocked lightly.

Arthur chuckled and reminded her, "Incredible legend? Gwen, you and I both know that supposed legend hardly contains an ounce of truth to it."

"I dunno about that," Gwen said musingly. "The way Merlin told it…So, we know that the tale of the blade's _origin_ is false, but the _meaning_ behind it _—_ that's something else all together. And you must have thought similarly."

Bewildered at her perception and her tendency to directly see into his mind—he was literally just reliving those few moments in the glade with a wise, inspiring Merlin by his side—the King blurted curiously, "What makes you say so?"

She leaned forward and, with eyes sparkling with a hint of amusement and with the remnants of wonder, answered with a question: "If you hadn't believed…or felt that some part of it was true, would you have tried to free the sword from the stone?"

"Merlin made it quite difficult for me to refuse," Arthur joked with a smirk, "but…you're right."

Eyes shining, she said, "I've never seen such a bond as you two have. Don't deny it—" she chided amusedly when Arthur opened his mouth "—you'd do anything for each other."

Suddenly, she ran a hand through the loose curls framing her face and exhaled a bark of disbelieving laughter. "It's unbelievable!" she exclaimed. "Would you have ever believed _we'd_ have a sorcerer on _our_ side? Fighting for Camelot? Protecting a _Pendragon_ when all his kin—gods, that's so bizarre!—when all the others were crying for Pendragon blood?"

"When I found out, I asked myself the same exact questions, and I realized that if there was one person who'd be mad enough to do it, it'd be Merlin. The question remains: _why_?"

"Why?" Gwen repeated incredulously. "He believes in you, Arthur Pendragon! His story about the sword proves that, as do his actions and as does the selfless loyalty he's shown you all these years."

"Oh, don't think I underestimate that, Guinevere," he said quietly.

Her chocolate eyes and gentle voice softened. "Then why ask why?"

Averting his eyes, he tapped an unknown rhythm onto the floor with his boots and after a moment, he said, "There's so much I don't know, Gwen. My father hardly let me say the word 'magic' let alone _learn_ anything about it. I want to know why Merlin was born with magic. I want to know why he's different from the others. Why he didn't become bitter and cruel and power-hungry like Morgana when he was just as lonely and afraid of being prosecuted as she was. Part of that—yes—is because he loves Camelot and the people it holds just as much as I do, and I know what lengths he'd go to protect us all—he _threw_ himself in front of the Dorocha, remember!" he exclaimed with a flinch. "And just a few days ago snuck into an enemy-infested castle to help defeat Morgana! But despite all that, I suspect that there's _more_."

Gwen's eyes lit with understanding, and her brow furrowed with the implications of what he had just said. "Perhaps you need to ask yourself what it is you _do_ know before you can untangle the unknowns," she suggested wisely.

"…Perhaps," Arthur mumbled thoughtfully.

"You never did tell me how you reacted," she prompted.

Tracing a mindless pattern onto the back of her hand with his thumb, he smiled. "I was hurt at first. Hurt that _Merlin_ of all people…was another traitor. Then I was naturally furious…Perhaps it was the other way around? I don't really care to remember because in the end, it didn't matter. It was still Merlin—the same Merlin who's served me for _years_ , and Merlin is—he's my only true friend, Gwen. The only one who befriended me for _me._ It's not a result of mutual respect and duty, as is the origin of most of the Knights' friendship. And he's made me a better man because of it."

The once-maid, silent, seemed to understand, and the King suddenly found a great interest in his fingers and twiddled them before his sapphire eyes flickered to her face again. "Gwen, my father was wrong. So wrong."

Smiling softly, she whispered, "I know. I realized that in the past few days. But—I don't mean to offend you—but I'd never expect you'd come to that realization so quickly."

"He did lie to me," Arthur said, "but then, he lied to everyone. I cannot blame him, seeing as I never gave him the chance to tell me the truth."

Pride shone from her eyes. "Uther would _never_ have reached that conclusion."

"I'm not Uther."

Arthur did not comprehend Gwen's next statement as an overpowering swooping sensation—a realization, an identity-changing moment, growing in strength and surety, Destiny brushing her deft fingertips against his heart—made him freeze.

"And… I don't plan to be," he whispered.

Hearing the strange timbre in his voice, she asked in concern, "What?"

Arthur's thoughts were racing, and flashing through his memory were images of Elyan possessed by the spirit of a Druid child…his own promise ringing in his ears...

_But I can promise that, now that I am King, I will do everything that I can to prevent anything like this ever happening again. From this day forth, the Druid people will be treated with the respect they deserve. I give you my word._

Then, an older memory, fuzzy and blurred with age…Morgause and his dead mother. What he had said to Merlin, echoing…

_Perhaps it's not as simple as he would have us believe…. Surely not everyone who practices magic can be evil._

Clear as crystal, those stormy blue eyes lighting with pleased surprise and _hope_. The undercurrent of only-just-contained enthusiasm …

_You really think that?_

Mind whirling, Arthur sat back and quickly connected the memories of the past into one single glimmer of an idea for the future.

The Druids, Merlin…It was just the beginning, and Arthur had realized that there must be more in his kingdom and kingdoms beyond that deserved their freedom.

He shook the thought away and stored it in his thoughts for later. He couldn't jump that far ahead, especially when, as he had just pointed out, he knew next to nothing about magic.

More specifically: _Merlin's_ magic.

_Merlin, before all else._

Gwen was watching him carefully, and when he, returning to himself, smiled, she returned it uncertainly.

"Sorry, Gwen. What was it you said?" he asked, hiding his flush at the weird look he was receiving from her.

"I…asked you what you were going to do…about Merlin, that is."

"Well, I can hardly execute him, can I?" Arthur smirked.

Gwen inhaled sharply and said in a deadly serious voice, "Don't joke about that! Please. I couldn't bear it to see or so much as _imagine_ Merlin, _our_ Merlin…on a pyre."

Arthur had a feeling that they were not going to ever escape from those jokes (Merlin could have the darkest sense of humor at times), but he wisely avoided making that comment aloud and instead said, "Gwen, I trust him with more than my life. Even if I didn't believe that there was good magic in this world, I couldn't possibly hurt him...physically, at least," he, cringing, tacked on realistically. "After all that we've done together and all that he's sacrificed for me, how could I possibly even consider turning him away now? There aren't words enough to describe how much I owe him."

"How much we _all_ owe him," Gwen corrected.

"Here's to telling what _else_ he's done behind our backs with magic," Arthur mumbled in agreement. "He owes us both a hell of an explanation."

The pair of them, staring off into space and lost in their own thoughts, stood together in silence for a few moments before Gwen, breaking the meditative silence, asked, "How are you going to tell him?"

Grinning, Arthur led her to the bed, sat next to her, and teased, "Don't you mean: how are _we_ going to tell him? I don't think I could do this without you. And Merlin...he deserves to be recognized for his loyalty and his skills. He needs us, Gwen, just as we need him.

"Don't you want to _understand_ , Gwen?" he asked passionately, an idealistic fire burning in his eyes. "About it all? We've lived in a world that's scorned, hated, and feared magic our whole lives, and everything we've ever known and been told has been proven _wrong_. It's… Aren't you _curious_?"

Gwen blinked, and before she, whose eyes began to mirror Arthur's, could protest or say a word, Arthur answered her previous question with enthusiasm: "What _we_ are going to need to do is find out more about this _Emrys._ "

Her eyes lit in recognition, and she muttered, "Morgana said that name."

"'Not even Emrys can save you now,'" Arthur repeated. "Yes."

"But…why—wait, you don't suppose…?"

Arthur nodded. "Normally, I might not have bothered, but Agravaine—he called Merlin Emrys in the tunnels."

 _Merlin Emrys_ … that sounded…

" _Agravaine_?" Gwen yelped.

"In response, Merlin told him that that was what the Druids called him."

Brow furrowing in confusion and eyes hardening with seriousness, she said, "Tell me. From the beginning."

"In the tunnels outside of Ealdor, when I went back for Merlin after he offered to distract the men tracking us, we didn't get lost."

"Well, obviously," Gwen muttered sarcastically.

Arthur sent her a good-humored look that teasingly suggested that he didn't appreciate the sarcasm, and he continued, "Merlin's idea of distraction involves stupidly jumping out from behind cover, yelling "Oh, hello!" at the top of his lungs, and then sprinting away."

"You're joking."

"Gwen, are you honestly surprised? This _is_ Merlin we're talking about. I went after him in the first place because I was afraid he'd do exactly that—something idiotic—and get himself killed."

"You were worried about him," Gwen translated with a smug smile.

"That too," Arthur mumbled sheepishly.

His lover shifted closer to him so that their knees were touching. "Agravaine was one of the men?"

The King nodded. "Merlin led the six of them into a dead-end, where I happened to be hiding, laying in wait to help, and ready to jump out in a moment's notice." He barked a laugh. "Not that he needed it! Agravaine started to threaten him, intimidate him, and he stood with his back against the stone wall without a trace of fear or bravado, face set in stone, and eyes and voice darker than you could ever imagine them being, Gwen. He denied him any information, of course, but it was so strange seeing him, who's always so annoyingly sunny and cheerful… like that.

"The moment my uncle made a move that broke their tense face-off, Merlin's eyes flared gold—he spoke no word—and all six of the men flew into the air and crashed. Necks broken."

Gwen put a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp.

"Time slowed down then, giving me a chance to process what had happened…that is, until Agravaine rolled over."

He recounted the exact words of his servant and uncle's conversation and described what he saw from Merlin's body posture and eyes and how he had felt about it. Gwen, her doe-like eyes glued to his face, listened to him speak with the utmost attentiveness, and she seemed to dissect every word with the same thoroughness Gaius would have used in reading a difficult remedy recipe.

"He knew he was doing his kingdom good by killing the traitor," Arthur finished, "He knew that he was preventing him from returning to Morgana and from following us just as much as he was protecting his identity. But when he turned away, Gwen, I didn't see a sorcerer…no, not with that hint of pity in his eyes."

Gwen swallowed over a small lump in her throat before she said, "I think—I think we don't know how lucky we truly are to have him on our side."

"And that's where Morgana and Gaius will come in," Arthur said.

" _What_?"

"This 'Emrys' is obviously someone of importance, Gwen, and even I can't guess how powerful he is, but otherwise, Morgana and Agravaine would not have been searching for him. I want to know why. And I want to know who Emrys is to the Druids and why he and Merlin are the same. Before I can confront him, I feel that I _have_ to know."

"I see," Gwen breathed, "Gaius will know. He _must_ know."

"Exactly," the King said, swinging his legs, standing, and beginning to pace, "But we'll have to be careful. You know how protective of Merlin Gaius is, and he's no fool. I—I'll probably have to talk to him alone. _Two_ pestering him with questions would certainly make him suspicious. Of course, I'll have to make sure that Merlin's out…"

Grinning suddenly, Gwen offered excitedly, "While you do that, I could check the library. Geoffrey might know of something that could help."

Arthur stopped his pacing so abruptly that he nearly tripped over himself, and he, terrifically shocked at the mere thought of _Merlin_ being _written_ about, considered the idea and, shrugging—when impossibilities were becoming possibilities left and right, why not?—judged it to be a worthy idea.

However, Gwen, whose sense of normalcy and comfort had been growing throughout their conversation but had been still quite fragile, had misinterpreted his abrupt halt, and when he turned to back to her to praise her idea, she was on her feet.

"I—I'm sorry," the once-maid stammered. "I shouldn't have suggested—I mean, I'm already overstaying my welcome…"

Brow furrowing in concern, Arthur, who was determined to clear her mind of any doubt and to keep her from hurting herself in this way, said, "Gwen, I've already told you that I want you to stay."

"But I shouldn't stay," Gwen said weakly. "You might think so, and I shouldn't've dared to hope, but Arthur, it isn't right of me to be here. Not after what I did. You must think of your people, and they will think—"

Frowning and allowing a flicker of exasperated anger to spark at her insistence to remind them both about the circumstances leading to her exile, he strode over to her, and before she could finish her statement, he gently gripped her shoulders and brushed his lips against her mouth.

"I don't care what they think. Nor should you. I love you, Guinevere, and I just don't want to lose you."

Quickly, he dove his hand under the neckline of his shirt and pulled a chain free—the chain from which hung Gwen's ring, the very ring he gave her, ever since he had found it lost in the forest. He had taken it off during the battle, but it had always been with him in his pocket and had only just recently been replaced around his neck.

"This," he said softly, slipping off the chain and pressing the ring into her hand, "belongs to you. If you'll still have it."

With diamond tears clinging to her lashes, she, still stunned by his chaste kiss, blinked at the ring, curled her fingers around it, and then looked up directly into his glowing ocean blue eyes.

"Yes," she whispered, a smile growing on her face, "yes, with all my heart."

Tackling him with a tight embrace, she buried her face into his chest, and grinning broadly, Arthur snuck his arms around her waist, pressed his lips and nose into her curls to inhale her scent, and swayed with her in a sweet dance.

After a few precious seconds, the King tilted her head so that he could see her face, and he was leaning in…

 _Crash_!

Arthur and Gwen sprung apart and yelped in surprise at the sudden noise, and with wide eyes and sharp gasping, they whirled to the door…

Of course, Merlin, his naturally tousled hair a rat's nest and his breathing ragged, stood in the threshold, his palm still splayed on the wood of the door he had violently forced open, and as he leaned upon the door, he considered them with intelligent, gleaming eyes.

A lopsided, goofy grin spread across his face, and he said before Arthur or Gwen could recover from their fight, "I'm glad you two made up."

" _Mer_ lin!" Arthur exclaimed in irritation, which was hardly intimidating seeing as it was such a delayed reaction. "Haven't we had _multiple_ conversations about _knocking?"_

"Hello to you, too," the servant said cheerily.

" _Merlin_ …" Arthur said in a low, warning tone. "If you aren't here for good reason, and you just _decided_ to _barge_ in—"

The secret-sorcerer wasn't fazed, and he rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Arthur! You need to keep your orders straight," he ranted. "First it's 'you need to learn how to knock, Merlin,' then it's 'don't even worry about knocking, Merlin, this is news that needs to find me _immediately,_ ' and then it's 'you'd better bloody knock, Merlin' again! Don't you remember telling me that, no matter the time of day or what you were doing, no matter if you were sleeping, eating, or bathing, naked or clothed, sober or drunk, I was to tell you _immediately_ if she was waking up, and another thing—"

Gwen had started giggling halfway through Merlin's nonsensical rambling, but Arthur had, with both eyebrows disappearing under his fringe of blonde locks, stared with utter bemusement and disbelief until he remembered those exact orders, which were related back to him almost word-for-word…

"Wait," Arthur interrupted. " _What_ was that, Merlin?"

Upon hearing the note of authority in his King's voice and recognizing the grave tone it had taken, the playful light in Merlin's eyes dimmed and a profound light—the light Arthur associated with Merlin's wisdom, determination, and loyalty—replaced it.

"Morgana's waking up."


	6. Scene V: Understanding Emrys (Part II)

* * *

" _We can't afford to be innocent_

_Stand up and face the enemy._ "

(Song: "Invincible [Theme from 'The Legend of Billie Jean']" from Pat Benatar's 1985 album Seven the Hard Way)

…

" _You can choose a ready guide in some celestial voice_

_If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice_

_You can choose from phantom fears and kindness that can kill_

_I will choose a path that's clear, I will choose freewill."_

(Song: "Freewill" from Rush's 1980 album Permanent Waves)

 

* * *

**~Part II: Morgana~**

"The guards say she's begun to twitch and mumble," Merlin said. "It'll only be a matter of time. My prediction's that you have no less than a quarter of an hour, no more than half an hour before she's fully conscious."

Arthur, who had stood stock-still, furrowed his brow, and stared broodingly at the floor as he absorbed the news of this development—even though he knew that Morgana would be awaking _sometime_ , he was more surprised than he'd care to admit about how _suddenly_ she woke up and waspanicky when he realized that he _really_ wasn't prepared for her to wake up just yet—barely registered Merlin's voice until he heard the one word that was beginning to irritate the bloody _hell_ out of him.

_You_.

Why did those closest to him seem to think that he didn't want them there at his side? It was beginning to become almost offensive.

"Merlin," Arthur asked with an annoyed and teasing bite to his words, "what in the world makes you think that I'm not dragging you along with me?"

The servant, taken aback, blinked incredulously and shuffled backwards, and after a moment, unease filtered into his eyes. "What?" he asked in a low, controlled voice.

"You are accompanying me to see her," Arthur said carefully, unsure what to make of his friend's reaction. "Gwen, too, I should think?"

Biting the inside of her lower lip, the woman-in-question's eyes widened marginally, and after flicking her worried gaze to a rigid, tense Merlin, she jerked a determined nod.

To say that Arthur did not understand was an understatement. Here was Merlin, who had no fear when speaking to _dragons_ (it was becoming relatively easier to say) and who had singlehandedly captured the witch and prevented her from escaping without so much as a blink of an eye—here was Merlin, _frightened_ , it appeared, to go down to the dungeons to speak with Morgana when she was _locked_ behind bars and being carefully monitored and drugged with a magical-suppressing potion that he and Gaius had dug up…

But judging by the silent argument that was exchanged between Gwen and Merlin, whose helpless blue eyes begged with her, _Gwen_ understood...at least in part.

"Arthur, I really—"

"You're not needed in the infirmary, are you?" Arthur interrupted with one cocked eyebrow. "Gaius can spare you?"

"…No, and yes, but…" he trailed off evasively, obviously searching for a way out. Suddenly, he tilted his head to one side contemplatively, frowned, and groaned, "I really do need to clean your room, don't I?"

Incredulous at Merlin's abrupt, bizarre change of tone, posture, attitude, _and_ mood, Arthur was left gaping, and he, having quite forgotten the state it was in, quickly surveyed the room. "Ah, about that…" the King drawled with a mock-thoughtfulness. "Yes, you're right, of course. By tonight, _Mer_ lin, you had better _magic_ these bloody chambers _spotless_ because I really don't to spend another damn night—"

_Oomph_. A muffled puff of air was knocked from his lungs as Gwen inconspicuously jabbed her elbow into his ribs in urgent warning.

His sapphire eyes shifted to her in confusion, but her crazed, pointed _what-the-hell-are-you-thinking?_ look was enough to make his heart sink as he realized what he had let slip…

Flinching and cursing himself for his stupidity, Arthur, who suddenly felt very nauseous and weak-kneed, cautiously turned his gaze back onto Merlin.

Who didn't look at all stunned, afraid, forcibly composed, falsely confused, or even _remotely_ suspicious.

No, the moron was _grinning._

Thank _gods_ Merlin was thick enough to think it was purely a joke.

Or was it just that? There was something almost unnervingly ecstatic in Merlin's glowing eyes, and after a moment, Arthur, whose violently swooping gut began to calm again, realized why that was.

Pendragons did not usually make such nonchalant comments or jokes about magic.

"Of course," Merlin laughed sarcastically, his kaleidoscopic blue eyes shining with amusement. "Would you prefer I wiggle my fingers and say a few nonsense words or summon my immensely powerful, rune-covered magical staff to do it for me?"

It wouldn't have surprised Arthur in the slightest if Merlin did, in fact, have such an artifact, and the King, deciding not to wonder and rolling his eyes, said dismissively, "Whichever makes you happy, Merlin."

A diabolical smirk spread across the sorcerer's face as he paced further into the room. "Be careful what you wish for," he said, bending over and tenderly fingering at the red canopy that had once hung above his bed. "I might just do so and end up making even _more_ of a mess."

"I don't doubt," Arthur teased. He grabbed an unsuspecting Merlin by the back of the neckerchief and said, "Now, stop stalling, _Mer_ lin."

His face fell. "But—"

"You can do it later. I want you to be there when I question Morgana."

Camelot's King then began to pull the resisting servant along, but Merlin, whose eyes had immediately lost their humor and became chillingly unreadable with the vortex of emotion swirling there, soon wiggled his way free of Arthur's grip.

"What's gotten into you today?" the King asked incredulously, his annoyance at Merlin's pigheadedness flaring.

Merlin started. "Nothing," he denied too quickly, his eyes wide and feignedly innocent. Paired with his crazy hair, which stuck up in all directions, Arthur was almost convinced.

"You're actually _offering_ and _insisting_ to clean and portraying _initiative_!" Arthur exclaimed.

"Hey, now, I portray _plenty_ of initiative!" Merlin protested.

Arthur, as expected, ignored him and continued as though Merlin hadn't spoken at all, "Don't 'nothing,' me, Merlin, and by gods, don't lie to me. You're usually squirming and worming your way out of every chore or procrastinating and using Gaius as an excuse or going off to the tavern when you _should_ be working…

"Something's troubling you, and if you don't give me a damn good reason as to why you're avoiding this—"

"I'm _not_ avoiding it," Merlin snapped defensively.

Snorting, the King quipped sarcastically, "Could've fooled me."

The servant's jaw clenched, and after Arthur caught sight of his eyes darkening, they were harshly lowered to the floor. "I don't want to fight with you, Arthur," Merlin said in a dangerously quiet and careful voice. "But…trust me: I just don't think it's a good idea."

"And why is that?" Arthur asked challengingly, not cowed by his servant's cold tone. From the corner of his eye, he saw Gwen shift forward, looking as though she wanted to go and comfort him.

Those familiar dusky blue eyes, usually so expressive and open, flicked to his and immediately slid an impenetrable shield over themselves, leaving behind a guarded, emotionless Merlin. It was a sight that soothed Arthur's mild, exasperated ire and yet sent a silent chill through his body.

"Merlin?" he asked in a gentler voice.

The younger man stiffened, and after seeing Arthur's sapphire eyes soften and after studying the King vigilantly, Merlin's mask faltered, and he admitted in a low voice, "She wouldn't be too happy to see me."

With his brow heavy and frown deep in his confusion, Arthur opened his mouth, but before he could so much as release one syllable, Merlin muttered slowly with a flash of guilt and self-loathing flitting through his eyes, "And she'll—she might say some things that would better be left unsaid." Under his breath, he specified, "Some things I'd rather were left unsaid."

Arthur's eyes widened at his friend's openness and the elusive pain in his eyes, which left him with more questions than answers. It was worrying…to think that Morgana had something on Merlin that made him so reluctant, so afraid, and so _shamed—_ yes, there was a desperateness in his eyes that suggested whatever it was that happened between him and Morgana…it was not something he was proud of. At all.

Of course, it wasn't the magic. No, not that—it couldn't be—but it was all too easy to see, without magic even being necessary, Merlin, who had that tendency to stick his nose into everyone's business, clashing with Morgana, fighting her in a battle of wills and intelligence, marking her every movement…

Gods knew how many of her plots he thwarted when she was still Uther's "loving ward." Gods knew what other confrontations the pair of them had had in the past year alone.

"What can she possibly have on you, Merlin?" Arthur found himself asking in a concerned, quiet voice.

He had hit the nail directly on the head.

The emotionless, cool shield shattered, and as vulnerability leaked into Merlin's eyes, he shuffled his feet and cast his gaze away in a vain attempt to hide from Arthur's searching look and Gwen's sympathetic eyes.

"Why not tell him, Merlin?"

Arthur and Merlin, as one, whirled to Gwen with identical, comical expressions of disbelief.

Once recovered, the King stared at his lover as she regarded Merlin, whose forehead crinkled with reluctance and pain, calmly.

"Gwen…" Merlin whispered, his voice cracking.

She, ignoring the inquiries in Arthur's eyes, took a step forward, gently took hold of his arm, and squeezed it. The sorcerer, so much taller than Gwen, couldn't find it in himself to look at her and instead stared mindlessly at her hand on his arm.

"Wouldn't you rather," Gwen asked softly, "tell Arthur yourself than have _Morgana_ tell it for you?"

Merlin's shoulders lost their tenseness and folded inward, but after a deep sigh and after a brief glance up at Arthur from under his lashes, those shoulders squared themselves stubbornly just as those eyes shone with guilt and shame.

"There's more, Gwen, that you don't know," Merlin croaked.

"Merlin, we're your friends," she said. "No matter what you've done… Friends stick by each other. For better or for worse. 'Til the end."

Throughout this speech, Merlin and Arthur's eyes remained locked, and Arthur had seen every emotion pass through his friend's…lingering anger and pity, the briefest flash of selfless loyalty, hurt, dark humor, self-disgust, sadness, remorsefulness, and most horrible of them all: fear. Fear that Arthur would reject him and look upon him as something less for what he had done…

But despite all that—there must've been such an intense agreement in Arthur's eyes that despite all of his insecurities (insecurities that the King had never known Merlin had), Merlin turned out of Gwen's hold and faced Arthur with a resigned, determined look in his eyes, which looked far too old to be set in so guileless a face.

"I'm not sure…what to say," Merlin said slowly as he closed the bedchamber door. "Or where to start. Gwen, I haven't even told Gaius how I feel about this."

"Start with what I already know," Gwen said soothingly, "The rest…will come in time."

Merlin pursed his lips and continued watching and studying Arthur's expression in silence as he searched for the right words.

Arthur, rather uncomfortable and feeling as though he was _pressuring_ Merlin to reveal his secrets, broke the silence with: "Merlin, where Morgana's concerned, whatever you and she..." he trailed off, and tried again, "I hope you don't think I'll judge you—"

The sorcerer's face darkened, and he spat sinisterly, "You well should!"

"Merlin!" Gwen exclaimed in horror and in surprise.

The soulful blue eyes turned to her, and he said, "If I wasn't so weak…"

"Don't you dare blame yourself," Gwen ordered.

"How can't I, Gwen?" Merlin asked. "I almost destroyed everything. And I was forced to forget and deny my oaths, my ideals, my loyalties…"

"You weren't yourself, Merlin!" Gwen argued.

"That's _no_ excuse. Not when I could have—"

Gwen was quick to interrupt. "But you didn't. You found a way."

Horribly confused, Arthur frowned and asked slowly, "Didn't what?"

Merlin's stormy blue eyes bored into his, and with wariness and shame returning to them, he began with a hoarse voice, "I've done many things I'm certainly not proud of, Arthur. Especially when it comes to Morgana. But this—I don't think that there's anything I'm more ashamed of."

Arthur blinked in astonishment, and Merlin continued with the utmost seriousness, "But Gwen's right. I should tell you myself. At least this. The other things…Morgana can tell you. Because I know I was doing the right thing, and even though I feel guilty and dwell on the 'what if's, I've come to terms with my mistakes and with what I've had to become to make some of the decisions I've made because I know far too well that there was nothing I could have done to change anything in the end. But this—this—" Merlin's voice broke, and with a shaky breath, he finished, "This was bad. Unforgivable. Not only for you, but for _me_. I've disgraced myself."

The King inhaled sharply and withholding the urge to smack the idiot about the head for degrading himself in such a way, he said, "Merlin, it can't possibly be as bad as you suggest."

"No, it's worse," Merlin denied bluntly with hard, relentless eyes.

Arthur's eyes skipped across Merlin's stone-cold face and the teary, apologetic eyes, and he asked, "What happened?"

"When I was injured," the servant said cautiously, "you remember—after we were attacked…when were separated by the rock-fall and you found me in the bog…"

He snorted humorlessly. "Didn't you ever wonder how it was I was healed? How I was well enough to be crawling around in a _bog_ , of all places, when I was _half-conscious_ the last time you saw me?"

…He didn't. No, Arthur never questioned, and he started at the realization. At the time—after so many hours of the image of Merlin laying defenseless on the ground as rocks feel between them playing over and over in his mind, of the feeling of his last desperate shout of his friend's name scratching at his throat, of the _pain_ at hearing others tell him Merlin was dead and at seeing the evidence himself—he had been so _relieved, so_ relieved, to see Merlin, _not dead_ , breathing, _alive_ (albeit stinky and filthy), that it didn't _matter_.

He had even hugged the idiot he was so relieved, but he never once questioned.

"It was Morgana's men who took me after I fell unconscious," Merlin said. "I woke up in her hovel—after she threw a bucket of water at me, of course—tied to the ceiling."

Arthur growled through bared teeth, while Gwen, who was obviously hearing _this_ part of the story for the first time, gasped and sent a hand flying to cover her mouth, but Merlin, eyes detached and lost in another time and place, did not notice.

"We quarreled, well—" he folded his arms and made a soft ticking noise against the roof of his mouth "—quarreled is too tame a word." He shook his head, adding, "And then…she healed me. I didn't understand why, that is, until she summoned the Fomorroh."

"Fa-mor-ah?" Arthur repeated.

In response, Merlin bit his lip, turned his back to Arthur, and using his thumb to lower the collar of his shabby jacket and his fingertips to raise his neckerchief, his friend exposed a thin, small puckered scar slicing diagonally across the back of his neck.

"It is a Dark creature of the Old Religion," Merlin said, thrusting the fabric back down and turning back to Arthur's wide, horrified eyes, "One of the Darkest and most dangerous. It could devour willpower and consume everything a man once was, forcing him to forsake everything he stood for and everyone he loved so that he could follow its and its mistress's bidding without distraction and without resistance. You see, in the Old Times, it was used by the priestesses to…control the minds of their enemies."

"No," Arthur breathed.

Merlin's slate blue eyes shattered like glass as the self-loathing and guilt returned with a vengeance. "The last thing I remember before the snake was…inserted…was these words—words I'm sure will resound in my memory for years to come." He closed his eyes. "She said to me, _The Fomorroh will suck the life force out of you. Everything that makes you Merlin will be gone. And in its place there will be just one thought. One thought that will grow until it's consumed you completely. One thought that will be your life's work. You will not be able to rest until it's done. And that one thought is simple. You must kill Arthur Pendragon._ "

Arthur and Gwen stood frozen at the chilling retelling, and a surge of compassion and concern rushed through the King, who was nonetheless shocked at this revelation and who could understand why this tortured Merlin so, given that he had had the power to prevent it all and given that he was, first and foremost, protector and friend rather than servant and sorcerer. His mind flicked through memories, searching for any indication at all that Merlin had been enchanted and had tried to kill him.

Looking back, he saw the smallest of signs—things that he would never have second-guessed in the past—but then the largest sign of them all…

The two whole days he spent missing "in the tavern."

How could he have missed this?

Merlin's pained eyes flew open, and interlocking his fingers in his hair, he repeated in a dangerously quiet voice, "I was ordered to kill you, Arthur. My King, my friend...Do you know how it feels to give your whole life and heart to someone and then be enchanted by _her_ —" he spat disdainfully "—which is something that I could have avoided had I not been so weak—so that you were unable to remember why it all—all of the sacrifices, all of the work, all of the bonds forged, all of the laughs and bickering—mattered to you? To live with the knowledge that you turned against someone you cared about as though they were nothing more than a stranger and that you were denied the right to being yourself—that you couldn't _fight_ it? It was depressing…to understand how Dark magic can twist even our most powerful stronghold and innermost sanctuary."

Arthur couldn't imagine, and the fact that Merlin _could_ imagine in the first place and that such Dark magic was used on so good a man—it made his blood boil with rage.

Suddenly, as Merlin talked about how lucky Arthur was that he had been such a horrible assassin, how lucky Arthur was that Gwen had been able to knock him out to prevent him from making another attempt on his life, and how lucky Arthur was that Gwen and Gaius had watched over them both, Arthur was hit with the most startling revelation.

Merlin _must_ have fought it.

He must have. Otherwise, he'd be dead. Having seen the ridiculous ease at which the secret sorcerer could toss men through the air, by all rights, he _should_ have been dead.

And last time he checked, he _wasn't_ dead.

Perhaps, because Morgana knew nothing of Merlin's magic, the mind-controlling enchantment was unable to reach to his powers and allow him to use them to aid the assassination attempts?

But, no, that made no sense. Morgana's words suggested that Merlin would be forced to use _anything_ and _everything_ to ensure that his "job" was completed, and judging by how obsessed Merlin became under the Fomorroh's power (just as Morgana had said) and judging by how long he was under its power before Gaius found a way to kill the Dark snake, surely he would have used magic?

In another circumstance, Arthur might have started laughing at the idea of him thinking about how magic might or might not have been used to kill him and why that made any difference…

But it did make a difference. A _big_ difference.

And from the puzzled, soul-searching look on Gwen's face, Arthur could see she too had come to this conclusion.

Arthur, with his sapphire eyes soft with fondness for the selfless _idiot_ before him, closed the distance between them and put a comforting hand on his friend's narrow shoulder, which effectively cut him off from blabbering about how Gaius had managed to subdue the creature long enough for him to be himself again.

"Merlin," he said, "there's _nothing_ for you to be ashamed of. I know how loyal you are to me, and I know that you are not to blame for this. And _you_ should know—" he gave his friend's shoulder a tight squeeze, an action which seemed to do more for Merlin than any words ever could "—that this is in no way unforgivable. What Morgana did to you— _that_ is unforgivable."

The younger man, reading in between the words and studying his King's face, released a breath of relief (he had been more frightened of Arthur's rejection than either Gwen or the King realized), and slowly, a bright smile worked its way onto his face.

"You're just saying that because you're still alive," Merlin teased.

"No, I'm saying that because _you're_ still with us," Arthur corrected. With a smirk, he joked, "I'm lucky to have _you_ over the clumsy enchanted idiot who thought he could kill me with my own _blunt_ ceremonial sword."

Giggling, Gwen, who was gleeful that Merlin had opened up to them more than she had hoped, said, "You _were_ a bit of a goof, Merlin."

Merlin, pretending to be offended and, in light of Arthur's clear forgiveness and willingness to forget his less than noble actions, pushed his bulkier friend away, but the King, expecting the move, grabbed hold of Merlin and rubbed his knuckles into his head.

However, the servant, wily and agile, slipped out of Arthur's hold quickly and, scowling, rubbed his head.

"Promise me you won't dwell on this anymore, Merlin," Arthur said. "You and I both know how poisonous self-loathing is, and I hope you know that I don't think any less of you because of this."

Merlin blinked, and with a lopsided, almost secretive smile, he said, "I wouldn't worry, Arthur. I feel like a large burden has been lifted from my shoulders. Thank you. For understanding and for…listening." His eyes gleamed cheekily. "I know that that's something you've had trouble with in the past."

Rolling his eyes at Merlin's playful barb, he said, "No, thank you. I know how much courage that must've taken you to tell me."

Merlin shrugged modestly, and at that moment, a knock sounded from the corridor, making both servants in the room jump.

"My Lord, if you will, you are needed in the dungeons. The witch will be fully conscious soon."

Arthur frowned and looked at his love, whose kind eyes were mercilessly determined and were betraying only a margin of the unease she felt. Turning onto Merlin, he asked seriously, "Will you join us?"

The impish shine in Merlin's eyes had faded, leaving behind the wise deepness that Arthur had come to respect, and the King almost _heard_ the message written there.

_For you, anything_.

"I will," Merlin said aloud.

With a curt nod, Arthur's face settled into his kingly mask of indifference, and he opened the door, saying, "Thank you. I was just on my way."

The guard bowed low and said, "Do you wish us to be preparing the pyre for the morrow, Sire?"

Behind him, he sensed Merlin stiffen and felt both his and Gwen's disbelieving, accusing eyes on his back (it appeared that they had not heard of Morgana's punishment), and making a split second decision, he said authoritatively, "No. I will be speaking to the captain of the guards shortly."

"Yes, my Lord," the nameless soldier said, giving another bow and turning to continue his patrol around the castle.

The moment the fellow turned around the corner, Merlin stated in a cool voice, "You've passed judgment."

It was not a question.

The King whirled to see Merlin, his stormy blue eyes blazing, straight-backed and uncompromising. Dangerous. Wise.

Recognizing the power swirling in those eyes, the King hesitated only fleetingly before he, being the stubborn man that he was, brushed the eerie feeling away and faced the man who never ceased to disobey and question him and the one man he should have took counsel with before ever making his ultimate decision.

"After what you've just told me, don't expect me to believe that you don't think that she deserves to be burnt," Arthur said bitterly.

"It's a cruel, cruel death," Merlin muttered.

"And befitting for a cruel, cruel monster."

The multifaceted eyes regarded him, and he said, "Think of Gwen and I, Arthur."

Not expecting that answer, the King blanched. "What?"

"Gwen and I both have faced the threat of execution by fire," Merlin explained quietly with a shudder. "You, on the other hand, have never faced that threat. Seeing it happen…hearing it happen…that's enough to make any man with a heart wary to deal such a punishment. But those who've experienced that threat and survived—they know that those few hours before you are to burn as you imagine what it would feel like to die that death…It is not something I would wish upon anyone. Not even Morgana."

Arthur winced, but before he could so much as think about Merlin's words, the servant continued, "I might hate what she's become, but there's still the memory of what she was to us. Even now, there's something of the old Morgana there that's deserving of mercy—no matter how small."

Merlin was right. It was wrong… so wrong. He had known this when he decided to allow the council members to walk all over him and convince him it was for the best. He had known this and yet he had let the pressure from his council overcome his morals and had let his guilty conscious make up excuses.

He was _King,_ dammit. How could he have just _let_ —?

"You're not your father, Arthur," Merlin added. "And this decision could alter that in the eyes of those who will see Morgana as a martyr."

"The witch is too dangerous to live, Merlin," Arthur, whose eyes widened in comprehension of the repercussions of killing Morgana, mumbled desperately. "Burning, beheading…what difference will it make when I have to kill her anyway? The ones who follow her will see none."

His friend shifted uneasily on his feet, and casting his eyes to the floor, he said, "It will make a difference to them—the sorcerers."

Arthur was convinced that Merlin was mad. Utterly, utterly mad.

" _How_?"

"You know as well as I do that beheading is a merciful death, Arthur Pendragon," Merlin exclaimed passionately, "and you should damn well know that people still live in fear of Uther's fires. The Druids, the other magic users—" Arthur immediately knew that Merlin included himself amongst those and felt a rush of pain at the knowledge that, in Merlin's eyes, condemning another man to the flames was the same as condemning _him_ to the flames "—even those _without_ magic have been affected by his paranoia—I'm sorry to say it in such crude terms because I know how you loved him, but this is the truth! To see you use the same methods would only harden their hearts and prevent them from seeing you for the King you are, and they will instead see Uther's shadow stalking the kingdom and curse you as they did him."

The ominous wisdom ringing through the words and singing through Merlin's eyes was hypnotizing, and Arthur and Gwen stared with open astonishment and simultaneously glanced to exchange a look as Merlin made a visible effort to compose himself.

Maybe he was mad, but then again, Merlin was utterly, utterly brilliant at the same time.

After such an incredible speech, all Arthur could manage to stutter out was, "Merlin, I—I was—"

Really intellectual and _perfectly_ kingly, he knew.

The power in Merlin's eyes had abated by that point, and suddenly, there was now only compassion, support, and loyalty there. "I know you'll make the right choice, Arthur," he said, a small grin touching his lips. "You've already started to."

~…~

After Merlin and Gwen, who had taken his hand, given it a reassuring squeeze, and told him with her gentle doe-brown eyes that she, while believing Merlin's words wholeheartedly, would support him, both encouraged him to think on the subject of Morgana's fate before making any decision (he didn't have much to think about, seeing as Merlin's clear-sightedness and ability to see things others did not violently swayed him) and after Merlin assured him that Morgana had recently been drugged and would not be able to use her powers, they finally left Arthur's chambers together to visit the witch in the dungeons.

They walked at a brisk pace and in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

Arthur couldn't speak for the other two, but he, feeling dread all the while, was spending this time adjusting the impassive mask he would use when speaking to Morgana and was carefully composing his questions about 'Emrys,' who, despite Arthur's knowledge that Emrys was Merlin, was still a complex enigma that would surely begin to unravel—if he was intuitive and insightful enough to ask the right questions and evaluate her less-than-willing answers and the hidden details in those answers correctly, that is.

Indeed, he was so deep in thought that he was hardly aware of his surroundings and was only brought back into reality when Gwen broke the silence by calling, "Merlin?"

The younger man flinched suddenly at his name, and his kaleidoscopic eyes snapped to hers. "Hm?"

Brow furrowed, she said, "You know—well, I was just thinking…and you never did tell us how you rid yourself of the Fomorroh."

Arthur watched Merlin's face cloud with a subtle trace of suspicion and panic before he smiled wryly and responded in a dismissive voice, "I told you that the Mother Beast needed to be destroyed so that the head would no longer grow back."

"Yes, but I wanted to know… _who_ destroyed the Mother Beast?"

Merlin pursed his lips, and while he looked at Arthur from his peripheral vision, he said carefully, "Someone who had Camelot's best interests at heart. An old friend of Gaius."

Arthur's eyes narrowed imperceptibly at his detection of the half-truth, but catching the disquiet in Merlin's eyes and reevaluating the stiff, falsely emotionless tone in which he _specifically_ said 'an old friend of Gaius…'

Hell no! Surely not!

"The old sorcerer!" Arthur, now officially sick of trying to figure what part of Merlin's half-truths were truly true, exclaimed both in accusation and in intense confusion.

His mind rejected the idea and yet embraced it at the same time. He might have thought _Merlin_ himself would have gone after the Dark snake, and that was enough to make him believe that _that_ was the lie. But, then again, there was some corner of his mind nudging him at him, teasing him…

If it all was true, as he was beginning to think, he couldn't deny that he didn't like it. True, though the King had just come to the realization that the senile man _had_ saved Guinevere and had _tried_ to save his father, it did not in any way take the sting away and brought back some old grudges and prejudices that he was horribly ashamed to possess, most especially in light of his discovery of Merlin's own magic.

Then again, perhaps he was justified, in the smallest of ways. He hadn't forgotten those insults, and _those_ were definitely over the line.

A brief flash of pain and resigned understanding traveled through Merlin's eyes, and he jerked a nod.

"You can't be serious," Arthur deadpanned.

Gwen, distracting him from his complex annoyance, tugged at his sleeve and whispered excitedly into his ear, "Arthur, I think he's t—"

Unfortunately, Arthur did not hear the rest of Gwen's statement because Merlin had stopped abruptly and interrupted with a mutter, "We're here."

Camelot's King surveyed the thick dungeon door with a mixture of contempt and unease, and after taking a deep breath, pursing his lips, and drawing himself to his full height, he turned and hissed, "Don't think you're off the hook, Merlin."

The servant grinned impishly at him. "Wouldn't _dream_ of it, Sire."

Narrowing his eyes at the rather mocking use of his title and ignoring the three guards' looks of disapproval, Arthur gave Merlin a look that very clearly warned him to watch his tongue and felt Gwen's hand slip into his.

"Try not to get her riled, Merlin, or I might regret bringing you along."

Merlin chuckled, and though his eyes shone playfully, there was an undercurrent of something far darker there. "Don't count on it, Arthur. She'll probably get riled the moment we walk in."

"Too true," Arthur agreed with a small smirk. "Well," he exhaled, "let's get this over with."

~…~

Morgana had just regained consciousness when the threesome entered, and lingering in the shadows for a moment, Arthur briefly assessed her seemingly relaxed mood with a frown and couldn't contain a wince at the sight of the heavy shadows under her eyes, which, in the light of the cell, made her look like a she-devil from hell, and her bandage-wrapped side, which sported an injury that Merlin himself had cared for.

Stepping forward with the others, Arthur dismissed the guards, and Morgana stood regally to meet him.

As her pale green eyes passed over him and Gwen, who cringed at his side, with equal levels of amused disdain and with that irritating smirk of hers plastered on her lips, Arthur noticed the eyes, when they latched onto Merlin, fill with a frigid, relentless hatred so strong and powerful, he and Gwen, sensing the impossible level of hostility emitting between the two, shuddered.

It shocked him at how much _pure_ loathing really existed there, but Merlin himself, not intimidated in the slightest, met Morgana's glare coolly as he moved to stand at Arthur's right before the cell door.

But it shocked him even more when it was _Morgana_ who broke eye contact and focused again on Arthur, who had been expecting her to speak first, and he waited with his impassive mask fixed.

"And to what do I owe this _pleasure_ , Arthur?" Morgana said with mock-politeness. "Surely not even the condemned witch deserves the honor of standing in your _pet_ servants' presence, let alone yours."

The King bristled at the insults directed at Gwen and Merlin, but knowing full well that she _wanted_ to get under his skin and make him lose his temper, he cooled his boiling rage and instead stated, "You've heard."

Rolling her eyes sarcastically, she spat, "Your guards already told me with excessive _joy_ about it, thank you. I apologize for your wasted your trip."

Her spiteful attitude hardened Arthur's heart, but in her eyes, from which shone a smug amusement, there was a different story. Merlin, who had cocked his head slightly at her and had narrowed his blazing eyes, must have thought similarly.

Suspicious, Arthur commented, "You don't sound necessarily concerned about your approaching execution, Morgana."

A secretive smirk tweaked at her lips, and she pouted, "Come now, Arthur. You surely can't believe I can escape, not after the potion that the bastard at your side so lovingly gave me suppressed my magic."

"You're welcome," Merlin interceded cheekily.

Rage colored her features, and she hissed murderously, "But I forget. You do seem to have a certain talent for these things, don't you, _Merlin_?"

"He lives with Gaius, Morgana," Arthur reminded her, sensing Merlin stiffen beside him. "Of course he does."

A cruel smile suddenly spread across her face, "Oh, naughty, naughty, Merlin," she chided. "Keeping secrets from your master, are you?"

The servant sighed and tossed Arthur, whose brow pinched together, a wincing 'didn't-I-tell-you?' look. Even with the guilt flickering across Merlin's eyes, Arthur could see how grateful he was that he had prepared Arthur for this.

"I have no secrets I'm not unwilling to share with him, Morgana," Merlin said truthfully. "Not anymore."

"Then what is it you're afraid of, Merlin?" she asked mockingly. "Afraid that he'll turn you away when he learns that it was _your_ hand that ultimately forced mine?"

With a terrifying anger burning in Merlin's eyes, he growled, "Don't you dare put the blame on me for the path you decided upon. You made it clear where you stood in this war far before it was ever necessary for me to act against you." He stepped forward threateningly and vowed to her, "Hell's fires would freeze over before I let you or anyone harm Camelot."

Morgana's eyes became slits, and tilting her chin up proudly, she snickered, "Such noble words for a mere, misguided boy who would resort to the coward's murder to get what he wanted."

Gwen gasped beside Arthur, who paled himself as he finally caught on to what it was Morgana and Merlin were talking about.

Poison. It was known as the coward's way. Tricks, deception—poison was no honorable way to kill an enemy. And Merlin had poisoned Morgana.

When Arthur, stunned to the core and unsure how to feel, turned to Merlin, his eyes were shut tight, but after a heartbeat, they, shining with righteousness and lingering pain, flew open to glare heatedly at the witch.

This was _Merlin_ , and seeing in his eyes the memory of how much it hurt him to poison her and the memory of how _desperate_ the situation had been that had forced him to use such methods…

It was enough to remind Arthur. It was enough to prove that, despite the less than honorable actions, Merlin's _intentions_ for those actions—actions that were very clearly done in the best interests of Camelot—were honorable…as they always were.

His actions had saved the city—he knew.

And the pity and pain he knew Merlin still felt...that was more proof of how different he and Morgana were.

"Oh, yes, Gwen," Morgana said cheerfully. "Does it surprise you that your precious _Merlin_ is not as innocent and idiotic as you would like to believe?"

"Enough, Morgana!" Arthur exploded furiously. "Your taunts are unwarranted, and I honestly couldn't give a _damn_ about your grudges against Merlin when I _know_ how good a man he is and when I, even though I can't say he's ever told me about poisoning you and even though I'm quite sure there's more he hasn't told me—I trust him. But you? I could kick you further than I could ever trust you," he hissed.

"Now, quit insulting my manservant—that's _my_ job—and tell me what you have planned because I know you—gods help me—I know you, and I know that you wouldn't be this confident on the eve of your death unless there was something you have planned."

While Merlin sucked in a breath of awe at his King's words and latched large, thankful blue eyes onto him, Morgana's eyes widened in disbelief before freezing into shards of pale ice. "I, my dear brother?" she asked innocently. "I am powerless, I am injured…and I already told you that I have nothing planned."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you."

"Please," Morgana scoffed, "It's not a question of what I have planned but a question of what Fate has planned for _me_." She grabbed the bars of the cell with dirty hands and placed her face between them. "And I'm sorry to inform you, son of Uther, that I am not destined to die by your hand."

"By Emrys', then, my Lady?" Gwen asked straight-facedly.

Merlin seemed to have a sudden coughing fit, but it went unnoticed as Morgana's face contorted with violent wrath, and baring her teeth like a wolf, she snarled, "Do not mention that name to me!"

Taking a deep breath, she added, her voice shaking with the passion of her loathing, "He's my enemy. No more. No less."

Arthur had lived with this woman for over a decade, and he knew full well when she was lying and when she was withholding information for the sake of her pride.

Here, it was both.

Beside him, Merlin was tense with anxiety, and since the moment Gwen spoke his Druidic name his eyes had flickered between the lot of them, but at Morgana's most recent words, he stared at her with a hint of dark amusement in his impish eyes.

"I want to know why you think that this man, whoever he is, would save me," Arthur said, watching Merlin start from the corner of his eye. "You said so—in the throne room."

The witch blinked at him incredulously and then jeered, "As if you don't already know."

"Um…no, I really don't."

Merlin, of course, snorted at the King's tone of voice, which somehow increased his confidence tenfold.

"Is this really why you came down here? Do you think me a fool?" Morgana demanded. "He's stalked me, thwarted me at every turn—managed to get under my skin even more so than _Merlin_ in the past year alone—a sorcerer working in the name of Camelot? He must be yours."

"You've seen him?" Gwen asked, a tinge of panic coloring her tone.

Morgana, closing her eyes—that didn't fool Arthur, who saw the flash of fear in her pale eyes—growled under her breath, and said sarcastically, "Of course I've seen him, Guinevere. I would like to think I know the face of the man I've sworn to kill."

The King and his lover exchanged a brief look of confusion and worry as Merlin turned his face "inconspicuously" into the shadows.

"Though I'm curious to see if age'll get to him before I do," Morgana commented dryly. "That'd be a pity. I do so look forward to killing him."

Arthur froze and inhaled sharply, the mechanics of the lock clicking into their proper places, all the puzzle pieces fitting exactly right…

"You don't mean," the King said slowly as he struggled to compose himself. "That this Emrys is the ridiculously long-bearded, robed old man?"

"And you told me you've never met him before," Morgana simpered. "He did come to court once, a year ago, Arthur, or don't you remember?"

Ignoring her, he said to himself, "He—he killed my father."

_Merlin_ had killed his father.

But, remembering Gaius' words, Merlin had also tried to _heal_ his father.

Dammit all.

Merlin cringed regretfully, but Morgana, who seemed to think it joyous news, released a clear, bell-like laugh that echoed mockingly throughout the drafty dungeons.

"Oh, that's too perfect!" Morgana cried, laughing. "Ha! The one time I'm one step ahead of _him_ …" She sighed blissfully. "I bet you even turned against him," she sniggered. At the look on his face, she started to laugh even harder.

Arthur, floundering for words, felt regret crash upon him with the force of a waterfall, and it took every ounce of willpower not to let it show on his face. It took even more than that not to turn to Merlin and beg for his forgiveness.

He had viciously denounced magic to the very friend who had magic and had only ever tried to help and to prove to him that there was such a thing as good magic, the only friend he had…the one that, despite his cruelty and the words that must've stabbed him like daggers, stayed by his side. Always.

"'One step ahead of him?'" Merlin quoted angrily, his eyes burning with a crazed, mad hope.

Arthur, slow on the uptake, scrunched his brow, but Gwen gasped and yelled, "So it was you! Uther's death was _your_ doing!"

The King's heart faltered, and Morgana, looking miffed at her victory being spoilt, said carelessly, " _Oops_. Seems I've been compromised. In the end though…" she smirked evilly. "I think I like the idea of my dear brother finally knowing that it was his sister who killed our father."

Red tinged his vision, and with pain for Merlin and for his father, he roared wordlessly at her and lunged for her, only to be held back by Merlin himself, whose grey-blue eyes shared his anger at the injustice and warned him not to do anything rash.

Smiling gleefully at Arthur's reaction, the witch beckoned him with a slender finger. "Word to the wise, Arthur," she whispered cockily. "Watch for traitors. Without Agravaine's help, the amulet that reversed the effects of Emrys' healing spell would never have gotten around Uther's neck."

"Are you really that wicked to suggest that Arthur had _anything_ to do with his father's death?" Gwen asked in a pained voice as the two men beside her growled defensively.

Morgana, a smirk forming at the corner of her lips, slid her eyes slyly away from the threesome, and suddenly, she, having caught sight of something, frowned.

"What the hell are you doing?" Arthur asked when she pried herself from the bars and drifted over to the corner of the cell, where she bent over to pick up an unknown object.

"Well, well, well," Morgana said mirthfully. "What d'you know?"

She stood, and before Arthur could demand that she hand over whatever it was in her hand, she brandished said object before Gwen and sneered, "Recognize this, sweet Guinevere?"

It was a bracelet.

While Arthur and Merlin, both bemused, exchanged a look, Gwen's eyes, filling with tears, widened, and choking back a sob, she winced violently and backed herself away.

"No," she whispered, her brown eyes tortured and filled to the brim with pain.

"What are you doing to her?" Merlin demanded anxiously.

Morgana, twirling the bracelet in her fingers, shrugged casually. Her eyes glinted devilishly as she reveled in Gwen's pain. "Nothing. Just bringing some bad memories to the surface, it appears."

"With a bracelet?" Arthur asked while Merlin studied the thin band of silver.

"Not just any bracelet," Morgana said, her greedy eyes fixated on Gwen, who was shaking. "Why don't you tell Arthur who gave it to you, Gwen?" she cooed.

"L—Lancelot. It…I threw it off here. I—I—"

Both Merlin and Arthur stiffened, and after Merlin's eyes squinted with renewed effort at the band, the servant cried out and, moving so fast that not one of them had time to react, snatched the bracelet directly from Morgana's fingers.

"Marks of the Old Religion," Merlin gasped as he tossed it to Arthur, who was numb with the amount of information that had just been revealed to him and who caught it without thinking. Rounding on Morgana, he accused, "You enchanted her!"

The witch arrogantly tossed her matted hair over shoulder, and smirking, she said, "It's a shame that all my hard work's gone to waste." Facing Gwen again, she added, "Arthur might have made up with you, _wench_ , and that bracelet might have only temporarily put the two of you at odds, but I hope you'll remember that, for as long as I live, I'll do _anything_ to keep you off my throne."

Anger flashed through Gwen's eyes, and with tears building up and spilling over, his sweet Guinevere flung herself at Morgana and slapped her with all her might.

Stumbling backwards, Gwen nearly collapsed, but after Merlin, looking as suitably impressed as Arthur felt, steadied her, she spat, "You _bitch_."

Rubbing her stinging cheek, Morgana glared at Gwen violently, and Merlin discreetly bumped shoulders with Arthur and muttered, "That's enough, isn't it?"

The King, tucking the bracelet into his pocket, nodded in agreement and took up a trembling Guinevere into his arms, and after kissing her gently on the forehead and trying to block the whirling thoughts in his mind from breaking his concentration on the here-and-now, he turned vehement sapphire eyes to ice green and said with a voice that hardly seemed to belong to him, "For your crimes against Camelot, for turning against those who once loved you, and for abusing them in the cruelest of ways, not only do I sentence you to death, Morgana Pendragon, but from this day forward, I disown you and promise to fight against you and the Dark magic you stand for...until the day breath leaves my body."

Unable to look at her a second longer and with pain and horror and wretchedness tearing him apart from the inside, Arthur stalked out of the dungeons with Merlin at his heels and Gwen against his arm.

Morgana's parting words, as binding as his own and thick with that goddam arrogant amusement, rang ominously behind him. "Until next time, Arthur Pendragon."

~…~

The King was hardly aware of his return to the upper levels of the castle until Merlin gently took hold of his arm in order to make him halt and said to the guards, "The King wishes that you double the guard."

Blinking away his mind-numbing thoughts, he flickered his surprised yet grateful gaze to his clever friend, and he reinforced the order with, "Yes. We have reason to believe she will make an escape attempt. Make sure she's drugged, and allow no visitors. I'll speak to Gaius about increasing the dosage."

The two guards remaining (the others must have already returned to their posts _in_ the dungeons) saluted and bowed their heads, and turning in unison, they went off to carry their orders.

Leaving Arthur alone with Gwen and Merlin.

At this point, everything that Arthur had learned, which was more than he had ever imagined, rushed into the forefront of his mind, and rubbing his throbbing head with both hands and fighting away the threatening breakdown that was sure to come, he backed himself into the nearest wall and slid down it.

"Arthur?" Merlin, who crouched beside him, asked in concern.

"Merlin, Gwen, everything—I can't believe…" Arthur stuttered. "I was—"

The servant, ruffling his tousled raven hair and shushing him, said gently, "There's a lot you need to think about, Arthur, I know, and I know there's a lot the three of us need to talk about. You and Gwen go rest. Go sort out your thoughts, and when the two of you are ready to talk to me, to each other, we'll face it together."

Looking up into Merlin's supportive, protective, kindhearted blue eyes, Arthur, conflicted and confused amongst a storm of revelations, decided unanimously that 'together' was the most beautiful word in the world.

With a weak smile, the King took Gwen's hand, gripped Merlin's shoulder with his other, and said, his eyes full of fond gratitude, "Together, then."

Merlin's responding smile was all he needed to pick himself up again and find the courage to confront everything that he had learned.


	7. Scene V: Understanding Emrys (Part III)

* * *

" _When I thought that I fought this war alone_

_You were there by my side on the frontline_

_And we fought to believe the impossible_

_When I thought that I fought this war alone_

_We were one with our destinies entwined_

_When I thought that I fought without a cause_

_You gave me the reason why._

…

_So will you please show me your real face_

_Draw the line in the horizon_

' _Cause I only need your name to call the reasons why I fought_

_When I thought that I fought this war alone..."_

(Song: "War" from Poets of the Fall's 2010 album Twilight Theater) 

* * *

**~Part III: Gaius~**

Arthur could not _believe_ his luck.

It was strange…surreal even. For what felt like the first time in his life, he wasn't even being sarcastic.

After leaving Gwen, who wandered off with the gaze and stride of a sleepwalker—Arthur guessed that she was making her way to her childhood home, where she felt most comfortable, where she would have plenty of privacy, and where the bustle and distractions of the castle wouldn't be able to interrupt her thoughts—and Merlin, who smiled sympathetically and apologetically at him before squeezing his shoulder in reassurance, standing, and gawkily walking in the direction of Arthur's chambers, where, despite Merlin's unending complaining, he _knew_ Merlin liked to work when he needed to do something with his hands to take his mind off of his stress, troubled thoughts, or restlessness, Arthur, feeling the irresistible urge to _get out_ , ranwildly through the castle, which he was quite sure looked very undignified (he was too intent on getting fresh air to really care how many strange looks had been cast his way), and out into the courtyard.

Where he nearly crashed into one of the squires, who was leading his mare, fully saddled and bridled.

Yes, he was _very_ lucky.

"My apologies, Sire!" the squire squeaked.

Arthur, steadying himself, blinked in astonishment for a moment before gruffly saying, "No need to apologize. It was my fault."

The look the young man gave him—the look of a wide-eyed owl—was priceless, and he was sure that Merlin, if he had been there, would have been really struggling to contain hearty chortles and snorts of amusement at the sight.

He might have been amused himself, but he really wasn't in the mood for bootlickers staring at him as though he was a five-legged horse in their shock at his genuine apology—it _was_ his fault, after all, for not watching where he was going—which, to them, was otherwise known as a severe lack of propriety, apparently.

Or something equally as ridiculous.

_Gods, what has that idiot done to me_? Arthur managed to wonder as his mare affectionately butted his shoulder.

His mare…which was fully saddled _and_ bridled…

Arthur _needed_ to ride. Now.

"What are you doing with her?" Arthur asked quickly.

"Just taking her out for a bit of exercise, my Lord," he answered promptly, but warily.

The poor fellow was weak-kneed in his presence, Arthur noted perplexedly. _Does the fellow really fear my displeasure_ that _much_?

It was one of those rare occasions when Arthur thanked whatever power watching over him that Merlin—

He needed to ride. Feel the wind. Be free of this mess Merlin made of his nerves and peace of mind…

Some do say that ignorance is bliss.

Beaming broadly with a mixture of relief and enthusiasm, the King gestured for the reins and said with a cheery urgency, "I'll take her off your hands for you."

"But, Sire—"

"I was going for a ride anyway."

The squire opened his mouth to protest again, but Arthur's face's sudden morph from a sunny grin to an exasperated, impatient frown effectively cut him off.

The moment the reins were in his hand, Arthur nodded briefly at the squire, pointedly avoided Leon's—the Knight had just entered the courtyard and had been witness to Arthur's odd confrontation with the squire—quirked eyebrow, and was mounted in a heartbeat.

It was unfortunate indeed that Arthur's horse had been cooped up for far too long. Otherwise, the King would have gladly pretended that hell's fires were at his heels and would have gladly galloped out of there with maniacal laughter on his lips. However, not only was that not very befitting of a mentally sane King (though Merlin might disagree) and not a very prudent idea seeing as the people might get the wrong idea and suspect another attack, but also he knew that, since the poor beast had been locked away in the stables for a long time while he regained Camelot, doing so would strain her muscles and legs and perhaps even ruin her.

So, choking back his impulse and soothing his prancing, restless blood, he clucked his tongue and gently led his horse out of the courtyard, and only half-aware of his surroundings, Arthur steadily built his mare up in speed and was thundering through the forest in no time at all.

The force of the wind tore at his fair hair and pricked at his eyes until tears trailed across his temples, and with his vision and colors of the forest blurring with his tears, heart swooping with exhilaration in the _speed_ , and mind focused on remaining as lithe and light in his saddle as possible so that it felt as though he was soaring low over the ground, Arthur let his confusion, his guilt—for there was _plenty_ of guilt, he realized—and his thoughts fly with the wind that kissed his face.

It was about three kilometers before his mare, her sides heaving, began to falter and pant, and it was only then that everything the young King had learned crashed down upon him like the rock-fall that nearly took Merlin from him those months ago. Closing his eyes and wincing, Arthur reined in his horse rather sharply and slowed her to gentle trot.

Merlin…Oh gods, _Merlin_ …

How was it that it was no less than a few days ago that Arthur learned of his magic? Now, there was the damn dragon, which he still refused to think about, the horrifying and eye-opening situation with the Fomorroh, which Arthur had easily accepted and forgiven—there was no need to dwell on that…especially when the tortured look in Merlin's eyes portrayed just how painful the experience was when he was so _loyal_ to Arthur—the _poisoning_ , then the blasted old man…who he had believed to be his father's murderer… _Dragoon,_ he recalled with the slightest twitch of a wry smile…

And just when he was ready to rebuild his relationship with Gwen—another bump in the road.

She was a lot easier to think about. A lot less confusing. A lot less frustrating and a lot less overwhelming.

To Arthur's vague surprise, he felt something cut into his palm, and he looked at his hand to see that the bracelet was still clutched in his fingers.

_This_ , Arthur mused, regarding the marks of the Old Religion adorning the silver band in disbelief, _is the cause of all our grief? Our pain?_

Anger and hatred gripped the King, and squeezing the bracelet so tightly that it nearly bent under the pressure, Arthur released the rein of his horse to hurl it as far as he could into the woods…

But no. Taking a deep calming breath, he stopped himself and gingerly tucked the bracelet into one of his saddle bags, vowing, instead, that the moment Arthur told Merlin that he knew of his magic, he would instruct Merlin to help him come up with the most creative and most memorable way to _destroy_ the damn thing to a lovely pile of fine powder…

Yes, that seemed far more satisfactory than throwing the bracelet against a tree, and when a surge of vindictive pleasure surged through him at the thought, Arthur grinned broadly and diabolically.

Merlin would probably come up with some _marvelous_ ideas, he was sure.

Suddenly, his grin twisted into a scowl, and growling in sudden frustration, he shook his head violently.

Even when the idiot wasn't standing before him, he _still_ managed to annoy the hell out of him. Wouldn't the idiot leave him be for _one_ bloody moment?

_Gwen_. He was supposed to be thinking of _Gwen_. Because she was easier to think about and because, while it made his whole perspective flip upside down, it wasn't necessarily _life-altering_ to think about what the bracelet meant.

He had already forgiven her, accepted her into Camelot and back into his arms…

Now, he could only hope that _she_ could forgive _him_.

Remembering her confusion, her tear-streaked face, and her wide eyes and remembering his own heart-wrenching pain, his mind-numbing disbelief, and red-hazed anger, Arthur cringed. All in vain.

He yelled at her, grabbed her, threw her in the dungeons, _banished and shunned_ her…she who did nothing wrong but fall just as deeply into the trickery as he had and accept a supposedly not-enchanted gift of supposed goodwill from a conjured dead man in the supposed form of her _friend_...

The day after he had witnessed the kiss, the day that Guinevere left Camelot, never to return on pain of death, he had told Merlin that he'd never trust her again.

And to hear his own misguided vows echoing in his ears… that—that made it all the harder to bear.

Guilt wiggled from the barriers of Arthur's heart and seeped into his limbs, weighing them down and making his horse, which sensed his mood, sidle uncharacteristically. He calmed her with a melancholy pat, and with a disdainful snort and _sassy_ jostle of her harness, she plowed on.

In Arthur's recent state of mind, it was easy for him to imagine that even his _horse_ believed that he didn't deserve her forgiveness at all.

Nor did he deserve Lancelot's.

She had been _enchanted_ , and seeing as she was enchanted, it was only safe to assume that Lancelot, who, out of _nowhere,_ hadreturned from the dead and who, now that he looked back on it, had seemed off. Distanced. And being near him—whatever he _was_ —it had sent ominous chills deep into his soul. He had ignored it for the sake of his friend. He had ignored it because he had been so _relieved_ to see Lancelot, who should never had taken Arthur's place to heal the veil, alive….

Now, he knew. That man hadn't been the same noble man who sacrificed his life for the benefit of Camelot. That man was a creation of Morgana's…who helped enchant Gwen, who pretended to be involved in a horrible scandal that would stain the future Queen of Camelot's reputation, and who then committed suicide.

And Lancelot's true memory was tarnished in the process.

Had he always been so _stupid?_ So _blind_? The Lancelot he knew… would _never_ do that.

Arthur had ordered Merlin to give Lancelot a proper burial; he would have to ask Merlin where he had laid the Knight to rest so that he could pay the respects that he owed to the man noblest of his companions.

But first—he must apologize to Gwen…and talk to her about Merlin.

He would then have to confront Merlin about poisoning Morgana, which, when he thought about it, really didn't bother him so much as he might have thought it would (what bothered him more, truth be told, was the little mound of secrets piling up and up). Merlin always had a reason, and as he thought earlier in the dungeons, the action, even if it made him shudder to think that Morgana considered that one moment to be the very moment that ultimately turned her against them, had probably saved more lives than Arthur could possibly imagine.

Possibly imagine… _Your own life has been saved using magic more times than you can possibly imagine,_ the old sorcerer—Merlin had said.

Of course, only _Mer_ lin could create an alter ego who was simultaneously wise and _insane_. And of _course,_ only Merlin would hurl those bizarre insults whilst he was being tried by his father… only _Merlin_ who would take so much pleasure in climbing on his back and kicking him as though he was no more than a horse…

Of course it was Merlin who would try to heal his father and who would be so distraught—Arthur remembered how quiet he had been following his father's death, and he remembered that there was a spirited light missing from his eyes—when he failed…

Because it _had_ been working, he realized that now. The charm—Morgana admitted it herself. _She_ killed Uther. Merlin…Merlin did not, and yet, Arthur knew that Merlin had blamed himself.

_I... I should've... I wish that there was something I could have done._

But his servant's voice had betrayed something deeper. His mood, his eyes…The lost light—it was lost hope, a lost opportunity and chance…

Because Merlin had tried so hard—and had done so in the most peaceful way possible—to show him that magic wasn't evil. And he had failed.

_You were only doing what you thought was right. I'm sure that that old sorcerer meant no harm. Perhaps the spell went wrong. Uther was dying. Maybe nothing could have saved him..._ Arthur heard the timbre of passion and entreaty in Merlin's voice even now.

_We'll never know. All I know for sure is that I've lost both my parents to magic. It is pure evil. I'll never lose sight of that again._

Another vow made. Another vow that would be broken gladly. Another vow that should never had been necessary to make.

A vow he shouldn't have made regardless.

Arthur bit his lip and released an unsteady sigh, which sounded more like a sob to him than anything. Guilt weighed heavier on him than ever, sitting unbearably on his shoulders just as the entire world did upon the trapped Titan Atlas' own shoulders.

Time after time, he turned Merlin away. _Time after time again!_ And still, Merlin stood by his side. Without falter. Without doubt or regret.

That was another apology he was only too willing to give.

_I know you have suffered because of magic, as many have. But not all magic, and not all sorcerers are the same. I wish only to show you that magic can be used for good. I hope one day you'll see me in a different light._

The day had come, and it was up to Arthur now to prove that he believed, with all his heart, that there was such a thing as good magic in this world and that he was honored to have a friend strong, determined, and compassionate enough to prove it to him.

With his inner demons soothed, Arthur took a deep breath of fresh air, and tilting his chin to the sky, he noticed from the position of the sun that he had been running for far too long and needed to turn back to Camelot.

For there were still questions that needed to be answered and still things that needed to be revealed.

After Arthur skillfully wheeled his mare around to head back down the path, he finally felt composed and level-minded enough to consider the true reason that he had gone to see Morgana in the first place: Emrys.

It was only expected that what Morgana had revealed about this strange other-name of Merlin's… Well, Arthur had no more answers than he did questions.

The strange glint in her eye and the loathing poisoning her dark tone, it suggested indeed that Emrys was her enemy, as she had said, but there was also the deep-rooted _fear_ in her snappish responses and scornful ranting which suggested that Emrys—Merlin was _more_ than an enemy.

There was only one reasonable conclusion. A few days ago, he had thought that Morgana and Agravaine's manhunt for this Emrys was either to get him to come to their side or to dispose of the threat he posed. Either way, it had made him wonder how powerful Emrys—Merlin was. But now, he was sure.

It shocked Arthur to the core to realize that Merlin was more powerful than he could ever comprehend.

Without Gaius' help, that is.

Because he knew that Merlin, the same humble idiot who took Arthur's verbal abuse and hefty chore-lists without much more than a witty wisecrack in retort when he could have easily used magic to do whatever he wished to his unknowing, arrogant master, would be of no help whatsoever.

Gaius, who knew more about magic and its myths and legends than any man Arthur knew, would probably answer that question and any others he had… _if he was careful_ , the King reminded himself. A protective Gaius wouldn't be too keen on him prying into something that might incriminate Merlin, who the physician loved as his own son.

But was that all he was after? Why it was Morgana was so frightened of Merlin as Emrys? No. No, not at all. He had said to Gwen he wanted to know why Merlin was Emrys and why the name meant anything to anyone at all. But that wasn't it either.

The elderly physician, too, would be able to tell Arthur just how much Merlin did for Camelot under the name of Emrys.

And Arthur, who felt a twinge of disappointment in that, if he played his cards right, he should hear from Gaius instead of Merlin himself, would not only finally be able to see exactly how much he owed Merlin but also would finally begin to _know_ him for who he was so that, when he did reveal his knowledge of magic, he would be able to give Merlin the thanks and reassurance that he deserved.

Merlin's voice, trembling with emotion, reverberated in his thoughts. _All I have ever wanted is that people like me can live in peace. That those who practice magic are accepted, rather than hunted._

All he ever wanted…

Arthur closed his eyes, and a bittersweet pang travelled through his chest and constricted his heart.

_Soon, Merlin, you will no longer have to live in fear. As I had promised._

~…~

When Arthur cantered into the courtyard once again, he was surprised to see Guinevere, whose face was clear of any tears, sitting and waiting on the steps to the castle for him to return.

Gwen, ignoring the cocked eyebrows, covert looks, and whispers headed in her direction, fiddled with her fingers, and upon hearing Arthur's horse's hooves clicking on the cobblestone, her brown eyes flew up to him.

And as she stood to greet him, she _smiled_.

Despite himself, Arthur felt a smile spreading across his own lips in response.

Without taking his eyes off her, he dismounted, threw the reins to a waiting stable boy, and muttered an absentminded thank you, and in a few great strides, he stood before her and unhesitatingly drew her into a tight embrace.

Burying his face into her curls, he closed his eyes and whispered, "Oh, Gwen. I'm so—"

"Don't you dare finish that statement, Arthur Pendragon," Gwen chided sternly, pulling a few centimeters away from him to look up at his face. When he was about to protest, she said passionately, "There's nothing to forgive. We were tricked, and it can't be undone. Each and every one of us knows the truth, and each of us made our mistakes. The blame falls on no one. Not you, not I. So—" she smiled gently and brought her delicate fingers to his jawline "—why not live in the present?" Her tone became shy, and she stammered, "It is behind us, and I would much rather think of the—our future. Together. Wouldn't you?"

Her loving eyes danced as Arthur, feeling a portion of his guilt lift from his shoulders, grinned and kissed her deeply.

In that moment, the King did not care that the people bustling in the square stopped whatever they were doing to stare at the open display of affection nor was he aware of it. It was simply he and Guinevere, as it should have been long ago.

With tingling lips, he drew away and whispered quietly into her ear, "I'm glad that this is behind us, my Queen." Gwen colored and brightened at the title, and Arthur felt a surge of pleasure when the words claiming her to be his passed his lips. "And I am so, so glad that Morgana still has the love of gloating." He chuckled suddenly, teasing, "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

Gwen beamed and admitted in an undertone, "You have no idea how good that felt."

"Oh, I can imagine," Arthur joked, taking her hand and beginning to walk with her.

Sighing and losing the light of humor in her eyes, she said flatly, "As satisfying as the slap was, I daresay I may one day live to regret it."

Arthur hesitated in his tracks and said forcefully, "Should she live to see another day, she will not touch you, Guinevere. I will not let that happen. Nor will Merlin." She pursed her lips worriedly, but he smiled and said consolingly, "But come now. That is a worry for another day."

"True," she said sagely. Shaking her head of curls, she tucked her worries to the back of her mind as she was reminded of the matter at hand, and she smiled knowingly. "We seem to have enough trouble on our hands with Merlin, don't we?"

Arthur snorted in response, and she asked, "You still plan to speak with Gaius tonight?"

Arthur nodded and muttered, "Morgana didn't give us much of anything to go off of. Except…"

"We do need to talk to him," Gwen agreed, reading his thoughts. "Do you have a ploy to get Gaius alone?"

The King shrugged and smirked. "Do you really have to ask, Gwen?" Adopting a mock-arrogant tone (the effect was rather ruined by the mischievous glint in his sapphire eyes), he said, "I do believe the stables need to be mucked, after all."

She shoved him exasperatedly and looked ready to reproach him for torturing his manservant needlessly, but even she couldn't keep herself from smiling and acknowledging that setting Merlin to chores out of the palace (and in a public place) was the best way to keep him away from Gaius' chambers when Arthur went to question him and the best way to keep him from speeding and cheating his way through his chores with magic.

"I will come with you to the library," Arthur reminded her, pushing open the door to his chambers, where he suspected Merlin was and where he had decided to check first for the normally elusive manservant, "to tell Geoffrey to help you find anything that might—"

"Wow," Gwen breathed beside him as his eyes widened and jaw dropped.

His rooms were absolutely spotless. Every overturned thing, righted. Every torn fabric, replaced.

And sitting at his dining table, helping himself to some fruit—or perhaps Arthur should say _playing_ with some fruit—was Merlin himself.

Merlin, his dark hair a tousled mess, flashed his slate blue eyes to the pair, and dropping the apple he, deep in thought, had been somberly rolling back and forth, a lopsided grin spread across his face. "I see you appreciate my work of magic here," he teased, standing.

Arthur, vaguely amused at the joke, blinked at him in astonishment, and more out of habit than anything—a productive, effective Merlin was always a shocking thing to the King, given that the younger man was the rudest and most lazy manservant of the five kingdoms—he asked, gesturing around the room, "Did you really do all this by yourself?"

Merlin pretended to look offended. "Do honestly have so little faith in me?"

Arthur giddily barked a strangled laugh at the irony, which Merlin seemed to take as an 'are-you-kidding-me?' expression of disbelief, and with gleaming eyes and an impish grin, the secret sorcerer admitted, "Alright. I had George help me with the hangings."

" _George_?" Arthur repeated with his brows disappearing into his hair.

The King would have been quite content to continue to think it a cover-up story if the stuffy servant George himself hadn't scrambled speedily out of the anteroom at the sound of his King's "summons."

The bootlicker stood erectly before them (not before shooting Merlin an annoyed look, of course), and with his chin tilted upward in the most absolute posture of self-importance, he said loftily, "Yes, Sire?"

It was at times like this when Arthur couldn't help but compare the two servants and when he subsequently had to hide hysterical laughter. Whereas George was tidy and prim, every hair in place and every bit of fabric on his body perfectly smoothed, Merlin had no shame in his tousled, shaggy hair or shabby, wrinkled clothing. Whereas George, feeling it never proper to smile or speak unless spoken to, was the exact image of propriety and had the tastefulness of a servant to the highest of Kings—he had been servant to Uther after all, and since Arthur's father's death, George had been promoted to "head" servant of the castle—Merlin had no patience with being proper, couldn't give a damn about style or respectful titles, and had no fear in speaking his mind. Whereas George was obedient, Merlin was stubborn. Whereas George utterly boring and devoid of personality, Merlin…insolent, full of life and humor and bravery.

True loyalty was there. True friendship was there.

There was no contest, and _that_ is what made him want to burst into laughter.

George, whose face and eyes were emotionless (as it was meant to be… it never really occurred to either Merlin or Arthur that they completely annihilated the traditional, unsaid rule that servants couldn't be friends with their masters and vise versa—not when they once had had trouble admitting it to themselves) and lingering with a hint of disapproval and distastefulness (directed at Merlin, of course), waited patiently for his King to respond, and all the while, Merlin himself gaped and stared in complete horror and amusement at George's efforts.

After a moment, Arthur managed, "Thank you for your help, George. You may go."

The older servant looked positively appalled for a moment—he cast a quick, longing glance back to the anteroom, where there must have been work still needed to be done—bowed dramatically low and muttered the expected, "As you wish, my Lord."

Arthur hid a sigh of relief and moved out of the way of the door for George, and before the head servant left, he turned and said authoritatively (as was his right, after all, as the master of the serving staff) to Merlin, "Be sure to finish polishing in the anteroom, Merlin, if you will. There's still a smudge that I couldn't seem to work off on one of the candlesticks, and if you remember me teaching you that—"

"Yes, of course," Merlin interrupted hastily.

Arthur bit his lip, and his chest shook from the force of his contained laughter at the sight of Merlin's face, which was twisted into a forced, polite smile.

The other servant looked slightly concerned and wary at the prospect of leaving Merlin to finish his work, but after looking at his King, he nodded once and dutifully left.

Immediately, Merlin shut the door and sagged against it, looking for all the world as though he had been saved of a terrible fate. "Thank the gods!" he sighed in absolute relief. "Arthur, remind me to _never_ ask other servants for help ever again. I'd rather face the risk of falling and breaking my neck when trying to rehang curtains myself than get stuck in the same room, alone, with _him_ again!"

The King finally allowed laughter to escape from his lips, and Gwen, too, giggled at Merlin's melodrama.

"There's nothing wrong with a man passionate about his job, Merlin," Arthur pointed out grinningly.

Merlin released a hysterical snort and said sarcastically, " _Passionate_? He's a _fanatic_. You should have seen him…hovering over me like a mother hen and trying to tell me I was somehow picking up a _chair_ wrong. Arthur," Merlin said seriously, his blue eyes twinkling with hidden mirth, "how in the world is there a right and wrong way to pick up a damn _chair_? Tell me that's not insane!"

"That's not insane," Arthur deadpanned.

"Hilarious, Arthur," Merlin scowled, standing straight again. "For someone who once complained to me about those brass jokes of his, I would expect a little more sympathy. That was perhaps the most torturous two hours of my life."

Suddenly, with all lightheartedness disappearing from his eyes and with something far darker taking its place, he sobered and pursed his lips, and a thoughtful mistiness filtered into his eyes. The younger man seemed to forget that Gwen and Arthur where there as he cringed and mumbled under his breath, "No…not even close. Shouldn't joke."

After the King and future Queen exchanged a look, Gwen asked concernedly, "Merlin?"

Merlin snapped out of whatever dark, bad memories he was trapped in and studied the pair with clear, soul-reading blue eyes before he asked quietly, "Are you both… alright?"

Brow crinkled, Gwen immediately consoled Merlin with, "Of course we are, Merlin."

"It was a lot," Arthur said slowly, "but nothing we couldn't handle."

A small smile slipped onto Merlin's face, and as that profound, knowing depth came into his eyes, Arthur asked, "How're _you_ holding up, Merlin?"

Merlin looked a little surprised at the question, and he answered teasingly, "Well, I'd be lying if I said that George's not good for one thing."

Gwen quirked a brow and asked, "And what's that?"

With a wry smile, he, looking as stiff and tense as a pillar, said honestly, "He effectively distracted me from thinking too much about this moment."

It really was incredible how much pain and torment Arthur saw in those kaleidoscopic eyes, and that Merlin was so worried… there was a moment of silence before Arthur decided to break the ice with a gentle joke. "I didn't think you cared so much about our opinion, Merlin."

His stormy eyes brightened with a glowing light, and with an impish grin, he said both truthfully and jokingly, "Not always, but in this…of course I care, you prat."

"And it's not every day your secrets are laid out for friends to see," Gwen added knowingly, taking Merlin's hand.

Merlin avoided their eyes and said bluntly, "I expect you have questions for me."

"Only if you're willing to answer them."

There wasn't the slightest hesitation, and even before Merlin lifted his eyes determinedly back to them, he said, "I will."

Gwen's lips twitched, and she looked to Arthur, who had been silently staring at his friend, and gestured with her head to push him to speak.

After swallowing, Arthur said in a cautious, but considerate tone, "When Morgana was accusing you of...poisoning her, she gave hints that this event happened while she was still on our side."

"That's not a lie," the servant said in a deep voice imbued with wisdom. "But nor is it truth."

Arthur blinked, and his brow furrowed. "What happened, Merlin?"

Merlin pursed his lips, and his eyes hardened obstinately. "It was the only way. She—to save us all, it was the only way."

"The only way to…?" Gwen prompted.

Merlin sighed, and the entire story spilled forth in a rush: "A few years ago, when the Knights of Medhir were summoned from their slumber—" Arthur's eyes widened, and he inhaled sharply at the memory "—Morgause put the entire citadel under a sleeping spell. Even you and I, Arthur, were affected after we returned from the ruins."

"But Morgana wasn't…and you…" Arthur choked and closed his eyes as the memory flickered in his mind. "I remember you telling me…"

"The source of Morgause's magic needed to be destroyed," Merlin supplied quietly. "Otherwise, Camelot, defenseless, would have fallen to her."

Arthur pinched the bridge to his nose and said, "So you're telling me that Morgana was the source?"

Merlin nodded, his eyes full of pain. "She had betrayed us to Morgause even then. So…while my poisoning of her might have driven her into Morgause's arms, she was already stepping into them without my help." He chuckled humorlessly, his eyes blazing, and he muttered darkly, "She daren't place her evil upon me."

"How were the Knights stopped then," Arthur asked carefully, containing a shiver at Merlin's tone, "if Morgana survived?"

A muscle in Merlin's jaw twitched, and he said with piercing eyes, "As you fought, I bargained with Morgause. The knowledge of the poison I used—in exchange, she would call off the Knights and cease her attack on Camelot."

For a few moments, the King stared unblinkingly at his servant, and all of a sudden, he punched him in the arm, saying, "Merlin, I suppose I owe you my thanks. Again. After all I've learnt today—" here, Arthur choked and could not continue with that train of thought, and shaking his head fondly, he finished, "Without you, Camelot would have been done for. You did well."

It was almost comical seeing Merlin so taken aback ( _he was not used to praise_ , Arthur realized), and after recovering, he said cheekily, "Not a complete idiot, then?"

Smirking, the King cuffed him again and teased, "Not this time at least."

Gwen snickered at Merlin's scowl, and she, without qualm, kissed him chastely on the cheek. "I'm proud of you, Merlin. You're not the same goofy boy I met with his head locked in the stocks anymore, are you?"

Both Arthur and Merlin laughed, and the secret sorcerer said, "I would certainly hope I'm not _that_ much changed, Gwen."

Unbidden, Morgana's words floated to the forefront of Arthur's mind…Words that had not seemed nearly as significant then as they did now…

… _managed to get under my skin even more so than Merlin in the past year alone,_ she had snarled.

He suspected this, but it made him ever more curious…

"Merlin, what _el_ —"

_Knock-knock_!

The three of them jumped at the loud knocking on the door, and before Arthur could answer, a certain someone forced his way into the room.

"Is _this_ where you three have been all day?" Gwaine demanded irritably.

"Practically."

"Not necessarily..."

"What's it matter to you?"

The answers from Merlin, Gwen, and Arthur sounded at the same time, and Gwaine looked between the three of them confusedly. "What? Wait, never mind," the rogue Knight said, shaking his head. "That doesn't really matter. You can lounge around all day while we practice on the training grounds if that's what you really—"

"Gwaine!" Merlin exclaimed suddenly. "Gaius said that you shouldn't exert yourself—"

The dark Knight pouted and interrupted, "And I didn't, Merlin. See?" He spread his arms open wide and twirled in a circle. "I'm _completely_ fine, and there's no reason to let Gaius know about this, is there?"

Amused, Merlin regarded Gwaine's hopeful grin for a moment before caving and saying, "Fine. I won't tell him, but I want you to come to us the _moment_ —"

"Yes, yes," Gwaine placated absently. "I promise."

"Gwaine," Arthur asked, "why the hell are you here?"

"Ah, about that," Gwaine said, leaning on the doorframe lazily. "I heard some rumors, some gossip…and wanted to see if it was true. I see it is."

"What gossip?"

He shrugged. "A little bird told me that you two made up." Suddenly beaming, he came forward and drew Gwen and Arthur's heads underneath each arm. "Ah, I'm glad, my friends. So glad," he said to a speechless King and future Queen. "I expect a full story soon and a wedding date, but for now…I've dawdled enough, unfortunately. I need Merlin to come with me. Gaius needs his help with something."

Arthur shoved Gwaine's arm off him and asked, "What for?"

"To make his rounds for him," Gwaine answered. "He still doesn't feel well enough to walk far, and he would rather care for the more severe cases that are here in the castle infirmary anyway."

Immediately, Arthur found himself wondering if that'd be enough time for him to speak to Gaius, but Gaius too was busy…

Merlin nodded and said, "Of course I will."

"Right!" Gwaine said cheerfully. "We be off, then, mate."

Gwaine drew his arm around Merlin's shoulder and wheeled him around, and thinking quickly, Arthur called, "Merlin, now that things are dying down, I hope you don't think this gets you out of chores."

"Wouldn't _dream_ of it, _Sire_ ," his servant quipped cheekily. "What's the list then?"

Quickly, Arthur picked chores that'd keep Merlin far away from Gaius' chambers, and he rambled, "Laundry, armor, stables."

And so the King smirked victoriously and amusedly as Merlin threw back his head and groaned as Gwaine led him off to do Gaius' rounds.

~…~

After a few short hours of helping Guinevere search threw the castle's extensive library—Geoffrey had said that he had heard the name 'Emrys' only but once in a child's fable he heard told by some traveling Druids long ago, so they had _very_ little to go off of—the King sent her with a few books they managed to wheedle out of Geoffrey (he was quite protective of the few books he was allowed to keep that Uther had once banned) on Druid myth and legend to his chambers to begin researching, and Arthur himself finally felt it safe enough to make his way to Gaius' chambers.

He felt rather silly for staking out outside of Gaius' chambers for a few minutes just to see if Merlin was there, and soon he came to the realization that he was _King_ and that Kings generally didn't sneak around as thus in their own castle. Really, it was absolutely ridiculous.

So, with that self-conscious thought on mind, Arthur strode confidently across the corridor and, having adopted Merlin's bad habit, he admitted himself into the physician's quarters without knocking.

Gaius was busy working on a potion, and without looking up to see who came in, Gaius said, "Ah, Merlin, I hope that you don't mind—Arthur!"

"I'm sorry," the King said, cursing the idiot for being a bad influence on him. "I really should have knocked, and I could come back another time, if you—"

"Nonsense," Gaius said, waving a hand dismissively. "Pull up a chair and sit."

As Arthur, his heart speeding a little in his apprehension, did as he was told, Gaius drew up a bench himself across form the King and asked, "What're you doing here so late, Sire? Is something the matter?"

"No, nothing's the matter. I'm not ill," Arthur quickly reassured, his throat becoming dry. "I'm here to talk. I need to ask you something."

Gaius' eyebrow raised, and shrugging, he sat back and said, "What do you need to ask me?"

Arthur licked his lips and swallowed thickly, and when he spoke, his voice came out a little more hoarsely than normal. "I—I was wondering," he said slowly, watching the physician's face warily, "if you could tell me about a man—a sorcerer, I should say—named Emrys."

Gaius' reaction was more violent than Arthur could have expected. The elderly physician leapt to his feet with startling speed, and his icy blue eyes blazed with guarded suspicion. "Where did you hear that name?" the physician whispered, struggling to keep his tone composed.

Arthur stammered, "I—I heard Morgana say the name…in the throne room." Gaius, who must have heard this from Merlin, relaxed ever so slightly, and the King continued more boldly. "And Agravaine. He mentioned it once in passing, but it was what Morgana said that captured my attention. She told me that…Well, she made it out as though this Emrys has saved my life. In the past."

Gaius nodded and said with a gentler voice, "And why do you seek him?"

"I just want to know if it's true. And if I have the chance…" Arthur trailed off and finished strongly, "I think I'd like to thank him."

"You'd like to thank him?" Gaius repeated in utter disbelief.

"If it's true—" he, knowing that he couldn't possibly let Gaius figure out exactly how much he know, floundered a moment before saying carefully, "Morgana said that this Emrys had thwarted quite a few of her plans in the name of Camelot. If it's true, I think I have quite a lot to thank him for."

The physician contemplated Arthur for a few milliseconds, his wise, omnipotent eyes flickering across the King's face in search for a lie, and when he found none—Gaius was _very_ good at looking for lies, particularly in Arthur, who had long since made attempts to fake health when he was injured—his eyes glinted with something Arthur couldn't read, and he said apologetically and wearily as he retook his seat, "Forgive me for snapping at you, Arthur. You can imagine that I'd be cautious…in that the last time I was asked about Emrys, it was by your uncle…and it was for that information I was kidnapped a few months ago."

_Gaius...who abducted you?_

_I couldn't say. But I'm certain they were in league with Morgana._

_What did they want?_

_Information. About you...Camelot...to help bring down the kingdom._

Arthur's eyes widened, and he breathed, "I didn't know…"

More of Gaius' words echoed in his conscious. _I chose to protect him. I feared you would seek him out and execute him. That would've been a grave mistake…._

Gaius smiled gently and interrupted both his speech and the replaying memory. "It's alright, Arthur. I shouldn't have reacted that way because I know that it is information I can pass to you. For you alone deserve it, and I would think that you are ready to know."

"… _Me_?" Arthur asked in disbelief. "Why would I _deserve—?"_

"Because your story and his are as one."

"Wh—?"

Gaius' eyebrow raised higher, and the King stopped speaking immediately, knowing full well that Gaius was not a man who liked his stories interrupted by what he felt were unnecessary questions that would be answered….in time.

An ominous tone overcame the elder's voice, and he warned, "Be sure to be careful whom you share this information with, Arthur, and if I have your word that you will do so, I will tell you."

"You have my word," Arthur said sincerely.

Nodding in satisfaction, Gaius asked, "What do you wish to know?"

Arthur struggled for a moment, but he suddenly blurted, "Who is he? And why does Morgana seem to think that he, _a sorcerer_ , has been protecting me, _a Pendragon_?"

A sly, but amused smile slipped onto the physician's face as he answered simply, "That's because there _is_ a sorcerer protecting you. Emrys…is no ordinary sorcerer."

Arthur knew _that_ much, of course, but the way Gaius said it made him ask, "What d'you mean?"

Gaius leaned forward. "It has been foretold," he began, "in the Druid prophecies—"

" _Prophecies?!"_ Arthur yelped in shock.

"Yes, prophecies," Gaius sighed in exasperation. "It is said that Emrys will protect the Once and Future King—" Arthur stiffened in recognition "—and help him realize his destiny, which is to unite the land of Albion…and create peace for all her peoples."

Arthur's heart pounded in his ears, and spluttering, he closed his eyes and pinched himself impulsively. There was something incredibly significant in Gaius' last few, powerful words, but he was too dazed to get much past the word 'Albion.'

"Gaius, you cannot think I'm this…" he croaked.

"You are."

_The man who freed it would unite the land of Albion and rule over the greatest kingdom the world has ever known…_

Overwhelmed, Arthur, who had not been sure what part of Merlin's inspiring, spirited, and faithful speeches about his new sword were true or false, shook the memory away, sat back, and denied, "Gaius, uniting Albion is nothing short of—"

"Impossible?" Gaius scoffed, finishing his statement. "Arthur, _look_ at what you've done since becoming King! You've found an ally in Caerleon's Queen, befriended the princess of Nemeth, and let's not forget the alliances that you still have from your friendship with Princess Elena of Gawant, the loyalty you inspired from King Olaf once you showed yourself to be an honorable man, and the treaty you and Merlin helped save with Bayard of Mercia. All of Uther's oldest friends, too, are now yours. Sure Odin and Alined might have a quarrel with you, and Lot has yet to hold conference with you, but without even _realizing_ it, Arthur…"

_I believe in you. I always have._

_Because...you're Arthur. You're noble. You're the Once and Future King._

_You're destined to be Albion's greatest King._

Every step of the way, Merlin, wise and deceptively idiotic, had been there…as Albion rose, bit by bit…

Put like that—it made the King's head spin, and after blinking mutely at the wise physician in absolute, speechless, numb shock, Gaius, putting a hand on his shoulder, smiled and said profoundly, "There is no denying that you are the Once and Future King. That Emrys protects _you and Camelot_ with such ferocity and loyalty…it only makes it more undeniable."

_I'm not the only one seeking to protect you. There are many more who believe in the world you are trying to create. One day you will learn, Arthur. One day you will understand...just how much they've done for you._

"But don't believe that destiny is the only reason why Emrys uses his power to protect you," Gaius said, breaking through Arthur's thoughts. "Emrys is said to have a unique bond with his King. His loyalty is true to you and you alone. So, yes, while he's thwarted plenty of Morgana's plans, his assistance and magical abilities saved Camelot from destruction time and time again."

From beginning to end, Merlin had been there. When Arthur thought he stood alone, when he pushed everyone away, he had been there anyway… protecting him from the shadows, guiding him…

To become the King Camelot deserved.

"Arthur?" Gaius asked cautiously.

Glazed eyes clearing, the King jolted upright, smile weakly, and responded, "Sorry. It's just… a lot to take in."

Gaius chuckled, and Arthur said, "I just...all this time?"

"What do you mean?" the physician asked patiently.

Arthur laughed shakily and ran a hand through his hair. "I guess it still stuns me to think that a sorcerer was brave enough to overcome the fear of the Purge and…I need to know all that he's done, Gaius…" the King pleaded. "For me. For all of us."

"Should he reveal himself to you," Gaius said slowly, "it is for him to say. Even I cannot tell you that."

Silent, Arthur clenched his hands into fists on his legs, and he vowed aloud, "I haven't given him reason to reveal himself to me, but he should know—" Arthur's bright blue eyes flickered to Gaius' again "—that I want to give him reason. After—I know that he had a hand in our most recent victory, and I've recently realized Gaius, after the most recent incident with Elyan and the spirit of the Druid boy and after speaking with Morgana and becoming aware of Emrys…magic can't be all evil."

Gaius tried to hide it as he smiled and patted the King's hand proudly, but Arthur couldn't miss the distinct tears welling up in the elder's blue eyes. After composing himself, Gaius praised, "I'm proud of you, Arthur. Your father was a great king, but you have long since surpassed him. I'm glad that you see what he never could."

"Thank you, Gaius."

The physician's smile broadened, and he asked fondly, "Is there anything else you wish to ask of me?"

Arthur, whose head still reeled with the information, stood and said, "No—but wait, yes," he amended. "Morgana said that she and Emrys were enemies, but there was something deeper there. Even beyond the animosity, beyond the loathing, she was afraid. Why would she be?"

"She is right to be afraid of Emrys' wrath, as are any enemies of Camelot, seeing as he is a warlock born into his abilities," Gaius said in explanation.

Arthur, of course, didn't understand and prompted, "And this is…rare?"

"Beyond rare. Emrys is the only one to ever have such a heritage."

_The only one…_ a chill racked him as he asked, "Does that make him powerful?"

Laughing, Gaius shook his head and said, "My boy, a warlock born with magic… He not only can do elemental and instinctive magic from the moment he's born, but he can tap into the very magic of the earth and spin it into his own—command it as he wills. He can create things, change the very nature of things…He, essentially, _is_ magic. And Emrys…Emrys is destined to be the most powerful warlock to ever walk among men."

The King, eyes as wide as saucers and brows disappearing under his fringe of blonde hair, wheezed suddenly and began to have a hysterical coughing fit, and before Gaius, his eyebrow soaring higher, could ask, Arthur forcibly ceased coughing, smiled far too brightly at Gaius, and said, "I shouldn't take up too much more of your time. It's been a long day. Thank you very much for your help, Gaius."

"Of course, Arthur," Gaius said slowly, a bit baffled. "Should you need to ask me…"

"I will find him, Gaius. And he can answer any further questions I may have," Arthur assured determinedly, backing away.

Gaius shrugged imperceptivity, and confusion disappeared from his eyes as joy replaced it. "Have a nice night, Sire."

"You too."

The moment Arthur turned his back to Gaius and shoved the door open, the cheerful grin fell from his face and was replaced by a twisted expression of incredulity, shock, and, interestingly enough, a form of panic that Arthur could not necessarily name in his current state of mind.

_Most powerful…_ Emrys? Merlin? _Merlin's_ the _most_ powerful? _Bloody hell_ …

So consumed by the repeating mantra in his head, Arthur did not realize where he was until he violently collided with someone, equally lost in thought, heading towards Gaius' chambers.

After the grunting at the impact and preparing an aggravated, witty scolding for whoever was unlucky enough to so rudely run into the King, Arthur recognized the dark head of hair, which was being rubbed vigorously by a long-fingered hand, and glowing blue eyes, and scrambling away, Arthur exclaimed, "Merlin!"

"Arthur? Gods, will you watch where you're going? I know you're the King, but that doesn't give you the excuse to go bombarding your way through—"

Merlin's insolent rant was cut off, and peering at Arthur, who was staring at him in all his neckerchief'd, shabby glory, the servant asked, "Is something the matter?"

"No, no!" Arthur exclaimed quickly, "It's just—" Suddenly, his nose wrinkled, and he gagged. "Merlin, you _stink_."

Merlin looked down at himself and grinned impishly. "Stable-duty does that to a person, I suppose," he said offhandedly.

_Damn irony. Damn it to hell._

This statement made Arthur start staring again, and Merlin, who was waiting for a witty insult from his King, frowned, quirked an eyebrow at his King's look, and continued awkwardly, "Well, I'll take a quick bath before—"

"No, that's alright, Merlin," Arthur said, "You can have the rest of the night off."

Merlin, hay sticking up from his hair and muck smudging one cheekbone, gave _him_ a strange look and asked, "Arthur, are you feeling alright?"

"Of course!" Arthur scowled. "Now go clean up. I bet the kitchen-maids can smell you from half-way across the castle." He pinched his nose to emphasize his point.

A mischievous, diabolical grin crept onto Merlin's face, and Arthur had only a split second to realize what was on Merlin's mind before the servant opened his arms wide and lunged forward.

The King only just managed to dodge Merlin's smelly embrace, fall to the floor, and shuffle backwards on his backside to escape down the corridor, and after an enraged yell of "MERLIN!" rang through the halls, said servant laughed hysterically and dashed away to avoid his master's irritation.

All Arthur could do was feel the fleeting smile come and slip from his face as he realized that _that_ idiot was the same Emrys, most powerful warlock that ever was and would be…

The King didn't know whether to believe that they were all doomed or to wonder how it was Merlin was so...

_Great gods_ , Arthur sighed.

~…~

When Arthur stumbled into his chambers a few minutes later, Guinevere briefly looked up from the musty book she was pouring over and said apologetically, "I haven't had much luck here. Everything time I've caught the name Emrys, it's usually followed by some strange language I can't read, or some other such incomprehensible gobbledygook that I can't make head over heels of, but I—"

Gwen's report fell on deaf ears, however, and Arthur, ambling over like a drunkard to his bed, collapsed face first onto the cover and released all of his emotion, his frustration, and his confusion in a single, strangled moan.

"Arthur?" Gwen asked. "What's wrong?"

The King's shoulders tensed, and after a short silence that felt to Arthur like a lifetime, he lifted his head to see Gwen's shining brown eyes locked on him.

Taking a deep breath, he deadpanned numbly, "Guinevere, I have 'the most powerful warlock to ever walk among men' mucking my stables."

 


	8. Scene VI: Knowing Merlin

* * *

" _I've heard it said_

_That people come into our lives_

_For a reason._

_Bringing something we must learn._

_And we are led to those,_

_Who help us most to grow, if we let them._

_And we help them in return._

_Well, I don't know if I believe that's true._

_But I know I'm who I am today_

_Because I knew you._

…

_So much of me_

_Is made of what I learned from you._

_You'll be with me,_

_Like a handprint on my heart._

_And now whatever way our stories end,_

_I know you have rewritten mine_

_By being my friend."_

(Song: "For Good" from Broadway's Wicked soundtrack)

* * *

Arthur expected Guinevere to be shocked. He expected her to sit back and gape and demand to know how it was possible that _Merlin_ , their clumsy, quirky, bizarre friend, was born to become the most powerful warlock in the world. Or perhaps—the more likely reaction—he expected her to become lightheaded and overwhelmed and to stare at him in flabbergasted silence.

All in all, he expected her to be just as mystified as he was.

And, at first, the King thought he would be perfectly satisfied with Gwen's reaction.

However, after her eyes widened and mouth popped open marginally, she did something that he _never_ would have expected of her.

She started to laugh. Hard. So hard that she hugged herself with one arm and had tears of hilarity gathering at the corners of her brown eyes.

Arthur almost wished that that had been _his_ reaction—laughter—because really, it _was_ absurd, wasn't it? To think that Merlin, _his_ lazy and appallingly manneredmanservant Merlin, who even he had admitted was brave, loyal, a true friend…

A _powerful_ sorcerer humbling himself to scrub floors and muck stables...

A _powerful_ sorcerer using his magic so selflessly and for no reason but for the protection of Camelot and its King…

It was just so _Merlin_ , and that was why even Arthur, whose banter with the younger man had turned into his favorite pastime and whose mockery of him and his quirks became another fond hobby, couldn't even laugh at the irony or the absurdity of it all.

But apparently Gwen could.

Or so he thought.

"Arthur," she gasped when she managed to contain her laughter into small giggles, "you make it sound as though the world's going to end."

The King of Camelot stared at her for a few moments, and after fully realizing that, yes, she had indeed been laughing at _him_ and not at the situation as he had thought, too mentally exhausted and dumbfounded to even blush, he allowed his head to flop down into the pillows again.

"You can't tell me that you're not surprised, Guinevere," Arthur mumbled.

"Arthur," Gwen scolded. He heard the scrape of a chair being pushed backwards, and she came to sit beside him on the bed. "I can't hear you talk if your face is stuffed into a pillow."

Grumbling, Arthur complied with her subtle request that he stop behaving like a child and rolled over to lie on his back.

"You don't seem surprised," he stated again accusingly.

"Of _course_ I am, but… I think a part of me already knew that Merlin was no ordinary—Oh, don't smirk at me like that, Arthur!" she chided, smacking his shoulder and effectively wiping the devious smirk off his lips. "Yes, Merlin's odd—in a good way, of course, despite what you might think—but I didn't mean it like _that_.

"What I meant was that…he's ridden into battle with you without a single piece of armor to his name and returns without a single scratch or bruise! All the things you two have accomplished together… _survived_ together…" She shook her head. "And when he blasted Morgana the other day, he incanted no spell…He did it with his _mind_. So, while I am a little…awed, I remembered that I suspected that he wasn't just _any_ sorcerer. And, if I'm not mistaken, so did you."

Arthur opened his mouth to deny it, but realizing that she had completely read his mind for him, he leaned back again and huffed, "Perhaps. But that it's _confirmed_ …Gwen, when I left Gaius' chambers tonight, Merlin bumped into me in the corridor on his way back covered with hay and dirt and god knows what else. Do you know how _strange_ that was? After what I just learned?"

Gwen's brow cocked, and she asked perplexedly, "How was it strange?"

The King blinked in incredulity. "How was it—Gwen!" Arthur exclaimed helplessly, dragging his hands through his golden hair. "Everything I've ever thought about magic—he's changing things, Gwen. He's changing _everything_. But, no, that's not even it. I can't explain it…and I can't help but compare him to all the others we've faced throughout the years—all the ones that have been corrupted by their thirst for revenge and power…"

Realization dawned on Gwen's face, and she said slowly, "I think I know what you're trying to say, Arthur. You keep expecting him to be different for it, or perhaps it's more that you keep expecting to _see_ something different."

Staring at Gwen, the King uneasily pondered the statement, and before he could accept or deny it, Gwen was rubbing his shoulder and asking gently, "Have you ever wondered why Merlin never told us, Arthur?"

Arthur's brow furrowed, and he said shrugging and hiding a wince, "I just assumed that he thought I wouldn't…" he, carefully avoiding to think about the less than pleasant reactions he might have had (that particular, discomforting list of bad reactions made a nauseating horror grip him), trailed off before finishing, "…understand."

Now, _that_ was a euphemism if he ever heard one.

Gwen pursed her lips and said, "I've been thinking…and I believe it's more than that."

Both eyebrows rising, Arthur gave her an inquisitive, intuitive look, which was prompt enough for her to begin explaining.

"It isn't a matter of trust…it might have been at the beginning, but now, he trusts you more than anyone. Eclipsing all fear of Uther's pyre, of your violent or nonviolent reaction, Arthur, I think what he was truly afraid of, _more than anything_ , was not that you might exile him, imprison him, or condemn him to death but that, in doing so, there would be a moment that youwould look upon him with disgust, contempt, and hatred… that we, _his friends_ —should we accept him or shun him—would see him differently and treat him differently."

In the King's mind's eye, he saw the shattering of Merlin's eyes over and over again…

_I am indebted to you, Merlin. I had become...confused. It is once again clear to me that those who practice magic are evil and dangerous. And that is thanks to you._

_It is pure evil. I'll never lose sight of that again._

_You cannot trust a single word of what a sorcerer says. You'd do well to remember that._

_There's no way he's a sorcerer._

Each word, a dagger to his heart. Each syllable, another reason to be afraid that Arthur would never accept who and what he was. He had hurt Merlin enough with those odious words, and yet here he was, behind Merlin's back, doing the _very_ thing Arthur never truly realized his friend was afraid of.

He _was_ trying to see Merlin as a stranger in light of this new information.

With a small smile on her face, she shifted closer to him and said, "It's still _Merlin_ , and shouldn't you be grateful that, of all men to possess such magic, it _is_ Merlin?"

Merlin. Loyal. Brave. Selfless. Wise. Nosy. Insolent. Cheerful. Intelligent. Friend. Brother. _Idiot_.

Smiling, laughing, or quarreling, Merlin was Merlin, and the knowledge of his magic and its power, the extremities of his protectiveness, humility, and oddities in both the magical and non-magical worlds…it only made Merlin seem _more_ Merlin.

The fact that Merlin could raze the city to the ground…an unnecessary thought. Because Merlin was Merlin, and Arthur could imagine him laughing in the face of someone who suggested he do so.

The fact that Merlin could have used magic on him at any time…Arthur shrugged and resigned himself to the fact that the servant probably _had_ used magic on him at one point or another. Because Merlin was Merlin, and his lack of self-preservation, his desire to do nothing more than give his life for the King and for Camelot, his compassion, and genuine concern for his wellbeing mandated that.

_I'm happy to be your servant. 'Til the day I die._

_I'm going to be at your side, like I always am, protecting you._

"You cannot imagine," Arthur said with a bright, broadening smile, "how grateful I am."

"Good," Gwen said. "You're already going to scare the daylights out of him when you tell him you know. Don't need to scare him any further."

Arthur quirked an eyebrow and asked suddenly, "You're going to talk with him with me. Aren't you?"

Gwen shook her head. "No," she said decisively. "I think that this is something that must be settled between the two of you first, and as I said, I don't want to overwhelm him…I'm sure that he's kept the secret for so long— _"_ a worried, suspicious look flitted across her face when a mischievous gleam appeared in his eye (he was suddenly reminded of a promise he had made himself in jest a few days previous), and she said, "You're not going to make this easy for him are you."

Smiling slyly, Arthur said simply, "Not at all."

She gave him a disapproving look, and interpreting her glare correctly, he chuckled with mock-innocence, "Now how is that fair, Guinevere? He dumped a lot onto our heads—"

"You brought that on yourself, Arthur."

He rolled his eyes—that comment had no bearing on his conscience or his decision—and finished with a smirk, "Like hell I'm letting him off easy. He deserves it, and after what he's put us through, I think I deserve to have some fun with this."

"You have a _horrid_ definition of fun, Arthur Pendragon."

But there, at the corners of her lips, she was struggling to restrain a knowing smile, the smile of tolerance, amusement, and affection that she used whenever she saw the strange pair that was Arthur and Merlin interacting.

He won, and she knew it.

"But that's tomorrow." Upon saying that, his gut pricked with apprehension, but he shook the thought away and continued in a more serious tone of voice that captured Gwen's full attention immediately, "Let me tell you what I learned from Gaius."

~…~

It seemed that Fate favored the underdog in this battle.

By the time the warning bells were sounded, there was not a single sign of Morgana but that of a mocking, empty dungeon-cell, still locked and undamaged. And there was no sign of _how_ she escaped.

Except for that of the drugged, sleeping guards outside the dungeons, of course.

This was _not_ how Arthur imagined the morning going.

He imagined actually getting a good nights' sleep, for one, and he sure as hell didn't imagine waking up before the sun rose to the clanging of that damn bell and Merlin, with his bedhead and in his nightshirt, bolting in no less than a few minutes later when Arthur was stumbling around as he tried to pull on a fresh shirt. He imagined that he'd be prepared to have his conversation with Merlin soon after breakfast, which he, in reality, had not had yet…

Weary and hungry, Arthur rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, and trying to ignore the early morning sunlight beginning to filter through the windows of the council chambers and kiss his golden hair and the headache of fatigue beginning to pound in his temples, the King only pretended to listen to Sir Hector's report—there were tracks that suggested she was assisted in her escape (that much, Arthur could've guessed already), but those tracks disappeared suddenly just outside the line of trees bordering the city, and even dogs could not pick up the scent, to which, a carefully composed Merlin, leaning against his usual pillar and speaking out of turn from the shadows without fear of the consequence, blurted that her assistant (for he was confident that her magic was still subdued by the drug) must have used a transportation spell ( _or some other such spell_ , he had been hasty to add flippantly) to throw them all off her track.

So, while the other councilors began to argue in their panic and exhaustion about who to blame and how to go about fixing it, Arthur peeked over the hand on his face and inconspicuously studied Merlin.

The servant hadn't been reprimanded for speaking out. Indeed, everyone, including Arthur _and_ Gaius, who was probably seconds away from voicing the same observation, were so surprised that he actually _did_ speak out that when he, clenching his jaw, ducked his head, all they could do was stare at the well-known idiot manservant of the King's. Gaius, of course, was the first to recover, quickly agreed with Merlin's statement, and began listing the signs of magic.

Now, the secret sorcerer was listening to everyone bicker with a strange anger, self-contempt, and shame in his eyes. At first, Arthur thought those particular emotions were a result of Merlin having tried and failed to stop Morgana from escaping, but after watching his crystal clear eyes flicker from man to man, his jaw twitch, and his body posture, Arthur realized that it wasn't that at all.

Merlin had been asleep like the rest of them, and he, having not somehow sensed the magic of the intruder and having had a lapse of vigilance, blamed himself for not having even _tried_ to stop the escape.

"My Lord, what do you think?"

Arthur jolted upright, and as his eyes snapped back to the table of councilors, his gaze flickered to Leon, who had just addressed him.

"Sorry?" he asked sheepishly.

"About sending parties out after her and the intruder," Leon clarified patiently.

Arthur's brow furrowed, and resting his hands on his chin, he considered it. Despite the fact that Arthur knew search parties would hardly benefit anyone, seeing as she and her fellow sorcerer were long gone and left nothing for them to trace, everyone expected him to do so, and also, the people would need reassurance that their King was doing his utmost to protect them, even if it _was_ merely a gesture and _not_ the perfect solution.

What he _really_ needed to do was to talk to Merlin and see if he could find a way to track her through… unconventional means.

In the meantime, however…

"If Merlin and Gaius are correct about their use of magic, there is little we can do. However, I still say we send the parties out to search the forest and the lands of the outlying villages, Leon." He explained his thoughts concerning the people, who were sure to become very frightened at this development, and then added, "Remember, some people this good at what they do are overconfident. We might find something that they carelessly left behind. I expect, however, that she will evade us without difficulty…Soon, we'll need to discuss and predict her next moves, possible allies, and hide-outs and speak about the defense—"

It was at that point that Arthur felt an exhilarating thrill strike him like a bolt of lightning, and he, his eyes wide, unseeing, and distant, cut himself off as the golden epiphany formulated in his mind.

He wondered how it was that no one had ever seen it before, and looking back upon the Purge and what he believed it was that drove all those sorcerers to seek revenge on Camelot and her Pendragon royals and what it was that made Merlin different from them, Arthur was ever more convinced: the only way to fight her—to fight _magic_ —was _with_ magic.

What Gaius said the night before suddenly seemed all the more meaningful to him. In that one moment, the words were _invaluable_ because they directed his half-formed epiphany and its significance directly to his heart and then to the logic gears spinning and churning in his head.

When he looked back years later, he would recognize that it was in those words that he finally became _fully_ aware and conscious of what Merlin having magic meant for the future of Camelot.

_It is said that Emrys will protect the Once and Future King and help him realize his destiny, which is to unite the land of Albion…and create peace for all her peoples._

_All_ her peoples.

It wasn't the cries of " _Sire? Sire_!" that dragged Arthur from his thoughts but the familiar feeling of stormy blue eyes on him, and after flashing his eyes to meet Merlin's, he, feeling exposed and completely vulnerable under the piercing gaze, looked hurriedly away.

"Are you alright, Sire?" Gaius asked worriedly.

The King brushed off the concerns easily with the excuse of fatigue, and looking at Merlin from his peripheral vision, he said, "Yes, we'll definitely have to discuss new defense strategies and patrol schedules at a later date. We must be prepared for whatever she might plan for us next because, whether we like it or not, she will be back. Eventually."

With that, Arthur gave some final orders to Leon for the search parties, and after dismissing them and making eye contact with Merlin, he soon found himself walking side-by-side with the younger man, who was lost in his own thoughts, on the way back to his chambers.

Outside of the chambers, the problem and threat that Morgana posed—her hatred, ambition, and ruthlessness must have increased tenfold in her defeat—hit him with renewed force, and he, wanting nothing more than to hear Merlin's opinions, sighed, "It'll be as it was last year…another manhunt."

"She's not going to be found until she either makes a move or _wants_ to be found," Merlin agreed seriously.

"D'you suppose it will take her so long to recover from this defeat as it did the last?"

Stormy blue eyes darkened and deepened, and with an insightful frown, Merlin said sagely, "It depends. This time she does not have her sister to nurse nor does she have to spend a lot of her time learning magic or increasing her own skill."

A shudder ran down Arthur's spine at Merlin's unintentional slip…it suggested he knew far more about magic than he let on, and _knowing_ that he did indeed know about magic, Arthur wasn't comforted by the fact that Merlin seemed to think she was near her full power.

"On the other hand," Merlin mused, "she has few friends now, and it will take time to summon another force to take Camelot…or to plan her next, significant moves. Whatever they may be."

Merlin looked to his King with flashing, wise eyes. "All we can do is try to keep one step ahead of her and wait for what the next few weeks bring."

The King scowled suddenly at the words and growled in annoyance, "I feel as though we're waiting for _her_ to make the first move again. It gives her an advantage and makes me feel vulnerable."

"I'd like to see uscatch _her_ unawares for once just as much as you do, Arthur," Merlin said, "But isn't it more wise to play off a powerful enemy's first moves than to go charging into battle without a clue of what the enemy has planned and what it is we _exactly_ have to fight against?"

Arthur didn't hesitate to admit, "Yes." Dragging his hand through his hair, he added, "I just want to have something new to throw her way. This strategy cannot last forever. She knows us too well, and we are beginning to lose sight of her as she dabbles in Darker and Darker magic."

"You're right," Merlin agreed. "Do you have an idea of how to change it? The strategy, I mean?"

With a prick of apprehension, Arthur refrained from rolling his eyes, hid a knowing smirk, and asked softly, "Don't you?"

Merlin's unreadable, expressive eyes flickered to him, and with a forced impassiveness on his face, he shook his head slowly to indicate he and the King probably weren't thinking in sync.

_Liar_ , Arthur said to himself almost fondly. _Honestly, Merlin_...

"I think I do."

Dark eyebrows rose, and with eyes glistening with curiosity, he asked, "Oh? And what d'you propose?"

His answer was simple, though he knew that the repercussions of answering with such would definitely _not_ be, and he said it bluntly.

"Magic."

Merlin, his cerulean eyes widening comically, jerked to a stumbling stop in the middle of the corridor outside Arthur's rooms, and the King, with his hand on the door handle, turned back to look at his friend.

The silence between them was unbearably heavy as Merlin, shocked to the core, stared at him, and all the confidence that Arthur had, the rehearsals he had done, the visualizations of how this moment would go…disappeared. Flew out the window. What remained was nothing more than an uneasy feeling of nervousness that made his insides drop like a stone into a pond.

Suddenly, he became angry at himself. Surely a man who stood before a whole manner of nightmarish monsters without wavering shouldn't find it so nerve-wracking to start a bloody _conversation_? Surely he wasn't afraid to talk to _Merlin_?

_That_ was ridiculous. He was _King_. _Kings_ don't fear trivial things like that.

But then again, kings normally didn't befriend servants and have wit-battles with them and have to talk to them about their secret, illegal magic that they had apparently been born with or about their destiny as foretold in the Druid prophecies, which proclaimed them to be the most powerful warlock to exist, or about how they've used their magic these past few years and how said King found out or about what was going to happen _now_ since said king has learned about their secret, illegal magic or about how said King needed to thank them and then smack them upside the head for being so idiotic about it all _or_ about their supposed-to-be-dead dragon friend that can _talk…_

Arthur came to the miraculous realization that absolutely nothing about said King's life was _remotely_ normal.

And he, whose internal ranting cheered him up significantly, eased his frazzled nerves, _and_ reminded him that this was _Merlin_ , blamed Merlin for that.

Besides, the time for secrets was over, and Arthur was more than ready to take the next step forward, to recognize Merlin for his sacrifices and talents, and to see him free of fear and able to use his magic out of the shadows.

For not only Merlin's benefit, but for the benefit of _all_ of Albion's peoples.

So it was with the look of a man hardly daring to hope that Merlin finally managed, _"What?"_

Priceless. Already, Arthur was finding it hard to force back a smile, but having learned under the tutelage of his father, he was well accustomed to hiding his true emotions behind a mask.

"Well, for now, not so much magic in _general_ as Emrys _specifically_ ," Arthur explained casually, pulling open his door.

He stepped in and left the door open for Merlin to enter, but when the servant, who was frozen in place and forcing calm, didn't move, Arthur leaned lazily against the threshold and smirked, "Are you going to come in?"

When Merlin started and began to hide his unease behind a scowl, Arthur's smirk deepened, and he jabbed mockingly, "Or are you going to stand in the hallway all day?"

The servant's blue eyes glinted at Arthur's tone of voice, but instead of retorting, he stepped into his chambers, closed the door behind him, and asked carefully in a voice tight with unnatural composure, "What made you change your mind?"

Arthur looked at him in mock-disbelief. "Merlin, you're my servant. You're allowed in my room whether I like it or not—not that you would listen anyway if I decided to forbid you from entering—and I _did_ make it clear I wished to speak with you in—"

"No, not about _that_ , Arthur," Merlin exclaimed impatiently and exasperatedly with a wild gesture of his hands. As if suddenly aware of how loud he had been, he winced sheepishly, his voice became deeper, and he, now unconsciously playing with his fingers, almost whispered, "I meant…about—about… _him_."

The fact that Merlin seemed reluctant to say his Druid name amused Arthur to no end, and after cocking a brow and pulling a frown, he stated, "You don't agree."

"Yes!" A confused look passed over his face, and then, unnerved, he shook his head. "Wait, no."

Arthur blinked and asked, "So…you do or do not agree with me?"

Merlin's brow furrowed, and he seemed to choose his words very carefully as he admitted with a sheepish grin, "I'm not exactly sure what it is I'm agreeing or disagreeing to."

Of course Merlin would be the one to notice that Arthur didn't say anything about his _plans_ for 'Emrys,' but the small burst of pride for his friend's intuition was quickly overtaken by a pinprick of fond annoyance.

_You know, you're too clever for your own good sometimes, Merlin_.

"It's just that…" Merlin stumbled over his words. "I thought you hated mag—him, I mean—the old man."

The mask that Arthur had formed nearly crumpled like a piece of parchment underneath a boot as the words drove his greatest regret—that Merlin should feel that he was hated by him, his _friend_ —to the surface, and after swallowing harshly, he responded, "I thought so too…but I think…even before you caught that slip of Morgana's, I was starting to see, thanks to you and Gaius, that it was not Emrys to blame for my father's death."

A wry smile worked its way onto Arthur's lips, and he finished, "No, Merlin. I don't hate him. I would like to think that he and I could be allies one day—friends even," he threw in mercilessly, his sapphire eyes scanning Merlin's face for his reaction.

He wasn't disappointed. Merlin's face paled and then flushed, and his breath caught in his throat. To his credit, he hid it quite well, and Arthur only saw it because he was searching for it.

"You see," Arthur began to explain slowly, "After our visit with Morgana, I think I saw just how invaluable he could be to us. She's so terrified of him, and from what she said, it seems that _he_ knows how to foresee her plans and has prevented her from succeeding in her plots against us time and time again."

Merlin's eyes were shining with something akin to hopeful, incredulous, awed happiness, and Arthur, averting his face to hide a smile, sat heavily at his dining table, unsheathed his sword, and laid in front of him on the table.

"I didn't fully understand it—I didn't understand _him_ ," the King said, rubbing his chin. "A sorcerer using his magic _for_ Camelot and not _against_ it? No, I didn't understand…until I spoke to Gaius."

Suddenly a suspicious gleam entered Merlin's stormy eyes, and he, trying to subdue what looked like panic, surprise, _and_ irritation, asked, "You spoke with Gaius about m— _him_?"

Judging by the accusing edginess in his voice, Gaius _hadn't_ told Merlin that Arthur had been nosing around the other night.

But…why _wouldn't_ Gaius—?

It hit Arthur like a mace to the stomach. Either Gaius didn't want to worry Merlin…or he knew.

Recalling the look on the physician's face when he left, Arthur suspected the latter.

_You wily old man,_ Arthur thought to himself with a mixture of fondness and surprise.

"Yes, I did. I was curious."

" _Curious_?" Merlin blurted in shock. "You… _curious_ about _magic_?"

Arthur scowled, "Is it really _that_ hard to wrap your mind around it, Merlin?"

The question must have made Merlin aware of how strange he was acting, and to Arthur's amusement, he, off the top of his head and true to his nature, joked insolently, "Is that you challenging my intellect, Arthur?"

"Heaven forbid I insult your intellect, _Mer_ lin," Arthur scoffed sarcastically. "I would expect that you're used to it by now."

"Well, forgive me for being a little baffled by your sudden change in mentality," Merlin said a little shakily, finally pulling out a chair and sitting for himself.

"Trust me," Arthur sniffed, sitting back and folding his arms, "I was even more baffled. It's not everyday the realization that magic's not wholly evil is forcibly knocked into your head."

Merlin closed his eyes, which did flash with humor before he hid them from Arthur, briefly, and when they, glowing with a poignant light, flew open, he asked quietly, "Do you really believe that?"

Arthur locked his eyes with Merlin and said with the utmost seriousness, "Yes. I think I always unconsciously knew…when I defended the Druids during my father's reign, but it was Emrys who proved my father and me exactly how _wrong_ we were about it. Magic…I now believe in such a thing as good magic." Unable to keep a pinch of irony from his voice, he added nonchalantly, "And, forgive me if I'm wrong: you do too, don't you?"

Merlin's eyes, which were becoming less innocently shocked and more intense with each passing second, probed Arthur's, and after taking a deep breath— _Gods, is he…?_ Arthur, who, while hoping to mess with Merlin, also hoped he would be encouraged enough to tell him of his own volition, thought eagerly—the secret sorcerer said, "Arthur…"

Suddenly the courage that Arthur had noticed in his posture fled, nervousness flashed through his eyes, and, deflating, he said humbly in a slightly pained tone, "In this, I can't imagine my opinion would matter to you."

Arthur could hear the unsaid words ' _I'd be biased, and I want you to make this decision yourself'_ in Merlin's response, and he said, "It does matter, Merlin. I want to know what you think."

When he didn't respond, Arthur continued, "I was a fool, and I would expect that you're dying to say it."

With a lopsided, cheeky smile playing at the corners of his mouth and his eyes crinkling, Merlin, rolling his eyes, indirectly admitted under his breath, "Not _dying_ " before he craftily avoided the topic _again_ and breathed, "This is _huge_ , Arthur."

"No kidding."

The kaleidoscopic eyes flickered to Arthur, who took care to meet Merlin's gaze, and he asked, "What _did_ Gaius tell you?"

"He told me…that Emrys' loyalty lies with Camelot, and though he didn't give any specifics, he said that Emrys has done even _more_ for us than hinder Morgana."

It didn't go unnoticed by Arthur that Merlin, restless in his seat, jostled his legs under the table, and he said with the lightest tint of worry coloring his tone, "I sense a 'but' or 'however' somewhere in there."

A smile pulled at Arthur's lips, and he, feeling no remorse for the suspense that was no doubt building in Merlin's gut ( _serves him right_ ), said thoughtfully, "Well, there was one major specific he did give me. No, that's a lie. Make that two."

"Two," Merlin repeated.

"Yes. Apparently, Emrys is meant to be the most powerful sorcerer to exist."

Arthur couldn't help but cock his head lightly as Merlin paled and failed to imperceptivity clear his throat before he quickly avoided any further discussion on that by asking, "And?"

"Ah, that's where it gets interesting. I wonder if you don't know already, Merlin," Arthur said, placing his chin on his folded hands.

Merlin shifted, but his eyes were unreadable and deceptively ignorant as he cocked an eyebrow in an ' _I-really-don't-think-so'_ manner.

Again, it surprised the King that Merlin was so good an actor. Had he not been looking…

He fingered at his sword, an action which Merlin watched warily, and, leaning forward, said in a serious voice, "It's prophesized, according to Gaius, that I'm destined to unite Albion with him at my side. Emrys and—what was it?" Arthur pretended to ponder. "The Once and Future King, I believe."

Ocean blue bored down on stormy blue, and Arthur, playing absently with the hilt of his sword again, said with a mock-thoughtfulness, "Now doesn't that sound familiar? I swear that was the first time I've ever heard the _prophecy_ , but I do seem to recall _you_ saying such things to me."

Clearly unsettled, Merlin forced out a weak chuckle. "I don't recall, but then, you know how forgetful I am," he said flippantly. "In fact, you frequently remind me of it."

_Playing the idiot, Merlin_? _Seriously?_

"Indeed," Arthur drawled in a skeptical tone.

This was starting become obnoxious. Weren't his hints enough for the idiot? Did he seriously have to get any _more_ obnoxious?

Merlin awkwardly averted his eyes, and when the silence between them became unbearable, he asked, "What're you going to do now?"

More obnoxious it was, then… that opening was far too good to go to waste.

"Well, I'm going to find Emrys, of course," Arthur answered immediately with a bright smile. "I think I owe him a few apologies and many more thanks...though I'm sure he knows that he owes _me_ a few explanations. We need to talk."

Stretching and feeling a rush of warmth at the sight of the small smile on Merlin's face, Arthur picked up his sword again and stood with leisurely ease.

Merlin, however, flew to his feet, and with his smile dropping, he yelped, "What _now_?"

"Yes, Merlin. Now. Do you have somewhere to be?"

"No," he said with wide eyes. "It's just that—are you really going to ride out to his hut?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and smirked, "Don't be stupid, Merlin."

Allowing Merlin to have a moment of relief, he shrugged and said, "He doesn't live in that hut."

Merlin froze and asked suspiciously, "What d'you mean? That's where we found him…before."

"Ah, but," the blonde King disagreed, "if he's as loyal to Camelot as Gaius and Morgana suggest, I highly doubt he'd be able to know of the 'going-on's of the city living so far away—let alone be able to _protect_ us from magical threats."

A strange emotion sparked deep in Merlin's eyes, and he said carefully, "You think he lives in the city."

"Better," Arthur said with an astute smile. "I think he's also in disguise."

After averting his eyes, the King was about to slide his sword into its leather scabbard when a gentle hand shot out, gripped his upper arm, and prevented him from doing so.

Arthur looked from the hand to Merlin, whose multifaceted eyes skipped across his face and stared straight through his body to read his thoughts and soul. They were impossibly unfathomable, somehow looking more endless than any sea and more tumultuous than any whirlwind.

"You know," Merlin Emrys softly said, eyes remaining locked with his King's, "don't you?"

"Know what?" Arthur asked convincingly. However, he thought that the smugness beginning to creep into his posture and face gave him away.

Merlin studied him for a few more moments with his unusual eyes before he nodded once or twice to himself, released Arthur and backed away, closed his eyes, and exhaled a slow gust of breath. "You know," he whispered shakily with a bit of a giddy giggle.

Arthur held his breath in expectation, and when Merlin's eyes, shining with a strong confidence, resolve, and willfulness, opened again, the warlock said, his voice wavering, "You _know_ …that _I'm_ Emrys—that I'm…magic."

In the years following, Arthur Pendragon would never be able to exactly explain in words how he felt in that one moment. Everything he ever knew—the very _air,_ it seemed— _shifted_. One second, the world was one way, and then the next…it was _new._ A place, an _age_ , still recognizable, but _different._ Gilded in gold. In friendship. In _magic_.Every false thing…every old thing shattered, and there was a light, a warmth. A promise. A chance.

It wasn't a beginning or even an end. Not the end of the beginning or the beginning of the end. It was something _more_.

It was for _this_ moment that they had been destined to become friends, and Arthur knew it with every fiber in his body.

And so, after the Emrys and the Once and Future King, both fully aware of their shared destines, their bonded one's part in their destiny, and the strength of faith both of them held for their other, looked upon each other for what felt like the first time as the significance of the moment dawned upon the pair of them, with dancing sapphire eyes, Arthur did the only thing he could do.

He _beamed_ , and he pulled Merlin into a fierce embrace.

"There," the King said to his warlock as he pulled away. Finally feeling as though Merlin had had enough mockery for today, he said it sympathetically and gently, "Now was that really so hard?"

There was one lone tear streaking down his cheek as he, grinning sheepishly, said a bit dazedly, "I didn't—I didn't expect it to be that easy."

"I can't say I blame you," Arthur said with a wince.

Merlin's eyes, losing their misty glint, flashed back to reality and hardened. "Don't," he warned.

Suddenly, the ferocity slipped off his face, and as the look was transfigured into one of surreal disbelief, he stumbled backwards away from Arthur and stared again. "But—why—when—" he stuttered.

"Might want to try putting one thought into a sentence before trying another, Merlin," Arthur suggested teasingly.

"I thought you'd be furious," Merlin whispered with wide eyes. "After everything Morgana's done—after all the attacks Camelot has suffered… me having magic?" He barked a humorless laugh, and his eyes softened sympathetically, "You must have felt betrayed."

"At first," Arthur admitted. "But then I—"

Merlin suddenly tensed up, and he interrupted with blazing eyes, "Dammit, Arthur! _You knew!_ And were you _trying_ to scare the hell out of me by tinkering with your sword as you questioned me or did you just want to get a good laugh out of it all?"

Arthur smiled wickedly and rolled his eyes "Well, it _was_ pretty funny, and after what I've gone through, I think it's well deserved, you idiot."

Merlin's eyes might have narrowed, but Arthur saw the smallest trace of humor in his eyes. "Just how _long_ have you known, Arthur?"

The King scowled and demanded sarcastically, "Are you seriously frustrated at _me_ for not telling _you_ that I knew about your bloody secret magic? That's rich, Merlin."

The warlock blinked, and to Arthur's satisfaction, he pursed his lips and said, "Alright, that _was_ unfair."

" _Thank_ you," Arthur, who was pleased with Merlin's admittance, jabbed with a smirk.

Slate blue eyes, losing their impish gleam, shimmered with a sea of emotion and unshed tears. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I should have told you. I—you know about me…more than I expected…you know that I'm Emrys, and we've got this destiny, but that's _not_ why I fight with you, Arthur. That's not why I stand by you and support you. It's never been. I believe in _you_ and the world you will build.

"I'd rather _die_ than betray you, and I'd rather diethan use my magic selfishly. It's _yours_ , Arthur." He swallowed hardly, and his voice adopted a fluctuating timbre with the power of his honesty and his vows. "It's always been yours. In Ealdor, there was no purpose for it. Even though my mother tried to convince me otherwise…and succeeded on most days, I thought myself a freak…a monster. But here? Despite the prejudice and loathing pressing me on all sides, I found myself. I found Gwen, the Knights, _you_ —and I finally found a purpose for my magic."

For a moment, Arthur was struck speechless, and after seeing the familiar loyalty shining from those eyes, he choked, "I—Merlin, there's no need to tell me."

"There's _every_ need."

"Merlin…" Arthur trailed off and then, with a renewed confidence, he inquired impulsively, "Will you do something for me?" When the warlock nodded confusedly, he suggested gently, "Show me."

It took Merlin a moment to understand what Arthur wanted, but when he did, the smile that spread across his face was at first hesitant and then indescribably gleeful.

And so, without taking his eyes off of Arthur, he slowly raised his hand, palm up. The King, wanting nothing more than to prove to Merlin that he didn't care about the magic and that he shouldn't be afraid to do magic in front of him, smiled reassuringly and stood at ease as, without a word, Merlin's blue eyes flooded with gold that contrasted so greatly with his dark, tousled hair and white skin.

Having only seen Merlin use his powers to fight—well, if you'd call tossing people around through the air _fighting_ —in the name of Camelot, Arthur was shocked to come to the realization that magic really was beautiful.

In Merlin's palm, an orb, glowing with a glorious, ethereal blue, silver, and white light, swirled into being.

With sapphire eyes widening in recognition, Arthur's gaze alternated from the orb to Merlin's face and back again, and moving slowly, the King walked directly in front of his warlock, who was watching Arthur with vigilant eyes, and tentatively and curiously reached out a hand to brush at the edges of the orb of light.

A pleasant tingling spread up through his hand and shot through the length of his arm when his fingers came in contact with the ball of pure magic.

He had felt this magic before. All the time, it was there. Like an ever-present guardian angel.

"I can't believe I never saw, never guessed…I—I was so wrong, Merlin. It seems so obvious to me now," Arthur whispered, removing his hand from the orb and looking up to Merlin's face, which was eerily defined by the glowing light. "It was shocking…when I learned. I was angry, upset, when I saw you and Agravaine in the caves—"

The warlock's face drained of color—it was so white that Arthur was horribly reminded of Merlin's near-death experience with the Dorocha—and after staring sightlessly at Arthur, his expression of horror crumbled to one of pain, guilt, and shame, and he, shaking his head and trembling, placed his head in his hands.

Avoiding Arthur's eyes, he said in a rough, raspy voice, "You saw—you saw me...kill him?"

"Yes, but Merlin—"

Merlin's eyes shot up, and Arthur almost took a step back at furiousness and darkness there as his friend repeated, "You saw me kill your _uncle_ , and you—"

" _Yes_ , Merlin, I did," Arthur interrupted with an exasperated glower. "No, listen to me. I should have listened to _you_ long before, and I'm sorry for that. You thwarted of a treasonous, evil threat to us all. One who took _countless_ lives in the name of Morgana. I should award you for disposing of such a key player in the battle. I saw how much you regretted having to resort to killing him, but know this— _I_ wouldn't have been so merciful."

Merlin gaped at him and said in utter awe, "Even after seeing _that_ , you still saw magic…saw me…"

"Yes, Merlin, that's _exactly_ what I'm trying to say. I think no less of you."

" _Why_? I told you about the Fomorroh, I told you about poisoning Morgana… and I have plenty of blood on my hands, Arthur! Why didn't you—?"

"Because it was _you_!" Arthur exclaimed. " _You_ , my only friend. Merlin, it didn't _matter_ to me. Don't think I'm cruel enough or stupid enough to forget everything we've been through together, and it mattered even less after you turned the tide of this battle by helping me find my spirit again and subduing Morgana's magic and after I decided to learn about who exactly Emrys was.

"I want you to know that I understand and that I believe just as much as you do in our destiny. You're a good friend—the most loyal man I've ever known and ever could have or want—and magic won't change that. Ever. I meant what I said earlier. I trust you. More than any man."

Truer words had never been said.

"And it pains me that I never gave you the chance to be your whole self…especially when you _never_ had that chance in the first place. It is wrong, and I think—those with magic deserve to be as free as those without."

Slate blue eyes shone, and Merlin, his voice thick and deep, released his hold on the magic—or so Arthur guessed when the orb faded into nonexistence—and said, "Thank you, Arthur. From the bottom of my heart. Thank you. I never…I was always so afraid that you would—"

"Look at you differently?" Arthur finished knowingly with a smile. "Never. You're still that insolent idiot that stood up to me and called me an ass all those years ago."

The younger man brushed away a few more tears with the heel of his hand, and after a moment of silence, Arthur, reaching his hand out to squeeze the warlock's shoulder, said concernedly, "How're you holding up?"

"You're asking _me?_ " Merlin asked in astonishment, laughing. "This is backwards. So, so backwards."

"I've had time to get over it," Arthur said dismissively. "You, on the other hand…It's been a secret your whole life."

"My heart's just returned to its normal pace," Merlin joked in agreement, a smile lighting his elfin features. "That wasn't very nice, what you did," he chided lightly.

Arthur snorted. "Perhaps not, but it _was_ amusing. Gwen thought simi—"

Merlin paled, and he yelped in shock, " _Gwen_ knows?"

Arthur nodded and gestured to the sword. "She was suspicious when she saw the sword, but she fully realized it when you captured Morgana for us—" Merlin bit his lower lip "—thank you, by the way, for preventing her from escaping."

"A lot of good it did," Merlin grumbled to himself darkly.

"We can talk about what we need to do about her later, Merlin," Arthur said. "She can wait. _This_ , however, can't wait any longer. I seem to have a lot to thank you for, my friend."

"You have no idea," Merlin muttered with a cheeky grin beginning to twitch at his lips.

Arthur sat on a chair directly across from Merlin and said, "Well, I'm listening. Are you ready to talk about it?"

An impish light flashed through his eyes, and he challenged brightly, "Are _you_?"

For a moment, the King wondered just what he was getting himself into, but after the slightest hesitation, he grinned and said, "It's about time. No more secrets between us."

"None, I promise. I'll answer everything truthfully." Humor still played in Merlin's eyes as he said modestly, "But…I don't really know where to start."

An image of a bronze dragon immediately came to mind.

"I know where you could start."

"Hm?"

"Perhaps," Arthur said slowly, "you could explain to me about the dragon you're so chummy with."

Merlin didn't look particularly surprised, and he asked, "What dragon?"

"Merlin," Arthur sighed in annoyance, "after revealing to you that I've learned of you magic and of how you've been lying to me for years, do you really think you're going to get away with sitting here and lying some _more_ to me? I've _seen_ —"

Arthur didn't know whether it annoyed him or pleased him that Merlin laughed his first true laugh that day.

"Arthur, as flattered as I am that you think me stupid enough to lie _now_ of all times," the warlock said sarcastically, "I wasn't lying."

The King recoiled in utter confusion, and he demanded irritably, "Then what the hell—?"

"Poorly worded question," Merlin explained. "I should have asked _which_ dragon you were referring to."

At first, the King, slow on the uptake, could see little difference in 'which dragon' over 'what dragon,' and he was about to lay it on Merlin how absolutely _idiotic_ he was when he suddenly froze.

It had just occurred to his poor over-weary mind that ' _which'_ usually implied 'more than one.'

" _Which_?" he hissed. "Don't tell me that there's more than one dragon roaming the lands!"

"Alright, I won't."

" _Mer_ lin—"

"You just told me not to!"

As nice as it was that their relationship hadn't changed, Arthur wished that just this once Merlin wouldn't be so irritating.

Groaning, the King passed his hand over his face and said with forced patience, "How many are there, Merlin?"

"Just two."

" _Just two_?" Arthur repeated through his teeth. "Where the hell did the second one come from? And _what the hell_ is the first doing _alive_?"

"In order…Yes, there are two. There's the Great Dragon, Kilgharrah, the one that you must've seen me talking to, otherwise you wouldn't know he was alive, and then there's Aithusa. She just hatched."

_Hatched._ Hatched from an egg. _The_ dragon's egg, which was supposedly destroyed amongst the rubble of the tomb that once housed it…

"You didn't," Arthur groaned.

"I did," Merlin said.

" _Why_?"

Merlin rolled his eyes and asked playfully, "How is it that you can swallow the magic concept so easily, but the moment dragons get thrown into the mix—?"

"Merlin," Arthur warned in his 'I'm-going-to-bloody-throw-you-into-the-stocks-right-now' tone.

The warlock smirked and crossed his arms. "I couldn't let the dragon race die. It was my duty as a Dragon-lord, Arthur."

See, there _was_ a good reason for Arthur's repression of the subject earlier that week.

His mind probably would have exploded if he had learned that Merlin was a sorcerer _and_ had subsequently learned that he was _also_ a Dragon-lord.

"A Dragon-lord," he breathed aloud, and after sitting back and feeling a violent nudge in his memory, he asked, "When the dragon escaped, why in the world did we travel to find Balinor—?" he cut himself off as the image of Merlin's face when he talked with Balinor…his tears when the man died protecting him…

His father had died doing the same.

"I didn't have the ability yet," Merlin answered quietly. "It is a gift passed from father to son…and it's only inherited by the son when the father is dead."

_No man is worth your tears_.

The King met Merlin's eyes, and if the suggestion behind Merlin's words weren't enough, the answer was clear in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," the King whispered.

"No need to be," Merlin said practically. "It was a long time ago, and even though I didn't know him as well as I might have liked, I'm proud to be his son."

Balinor. His _father._ After everything, it was rather pathetic that Arthur couldn't fully wrap his mind around it, and he wondered why it was so hard for him to _._ But then he realized what Merlin's parentage _meant_ …in the grand scheme of things…

Arthur, eyes wild, swore under his breath. "Dammit, Merlin, my father ruined your father's life. Your father brought the Great Dragon to Camelot. His actions left _you_ fatherless just as much as magic left _me_ motherless. My father's Purge nearly condemned you to live in fear your whole life, and I was taught to fear magic…What the _hell_ is Fate playing at?"

"Don't try to think about it," Merlin suggested. "It makes my head spin, too. Such a twisted, twisted story…"

"I hate irony."

"And to think that _we_ would end up friends after all that history—"

_Let alone our vastly different social standings,_ Arthur added to himself.

"It is just—it defies all laws of traditional social conduct," Merlin mused, making Arthur snort. "By that right, we should be enemies."

Arthur shuddered and quickly changed his previous statement. "I love irony."

Merlin's eyes danced, and he teased, "I should hope so. We wouldn't be here otherwise, would we?"

Despite the darker suggestion, Merlin's joke made him laugh, and deciding to drop it (as Merlin had wisely suggested), he prompted, "Alright. You saved the egg, but that doesn't explain the other one. What happened that night, Merlin?"

"After you were knocked out, I was going to kill him. He took so many lives, but…" Merlin faltered. "I remembered how often his advice had helped me save Camelot—I would visit him in the caverns for help. He even burnished your sword—"

"The one I pulled from the stone?"

Merlin nodded, and with wise eyes, he said, "It has the power to slay the dead, Arthur, and if it can do that, it can even pierce the flesh of magical beasts that cannot be slayed by mortal weapons. Be sure to never let it fall into another's hands."

There was an omen in Merlin's powerful command, and Arthur knew he had better heed those words. "I promise."

Satisfied, the foreign power left Merlin's eyes, and he continued, "So, while he did help Camelot time and time again, he also was the _last_ dragon at the time, and I the last Dragon-lord. I showed him mercy and told him to never return or attack Camelot again. In the last few years, he's repented for his deed…and has truly become a worthy ally of Camelot."

Arthur pursed his lips as a weary sadness dulled Merlin's eyes, and with a twinge of fear passing through his chest, he said, "That's not all, is it?"

Merlin closed his eyes, and with remorse and dread dripping from every word, he said, "In exchange for his knowledge—in particular, a spell to stop Sigan's spirit from destroying Camelot…among others—I made a promise….to set him free. Otherwise, he wouldn't give me the information I needed and would have cheerfully let Camelot burn."

Bowing his head, Arthur schooled his expression. He wasn't angry, per se—in fact, he had almost unconsciously known it before Merlin had spoke—and as much as he resented the dragon for its attack on Camelot, he did not blame Merlin. He was trying to help, and the dragon…

Merlin flinched suddenly. "Even so, his flames haunt my nightmares more than Uther's ever did."

_I'm sorry you're having to do this._

_Why? You're not to blame._

"I said it that night in the parapets, Merlin. I don't blame you, and you shouldn't blame yourself."

"All those lives, Arthur—they're still on my hands."

"But if his advice has saved Camelot time and time again, it was a matter of the worse of two evils…as horrible as that sounds, and after all that we've faced, I think I'd make the same decision you did."

The words seem to do Merlin, who had far more guilt on his conscience than Arthur could have ever believed (how he managed to hide it…he was a stronger man than he was in _many_ ways), wonders, and he smiled weakly.

"Why did it change?" Arthur asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Why did the dragon become friend, enemy, and friend again? Vengeance against my father can't have been his only motive (though I'm sure that was part of it), and since I believe you—that his advice was for the benefit of the kingdom—I don't understand why…"

"Well, he was a little miffed atme for some time as well for once refusing to ever free him, but I—I think he acted in the name of destiny," Merlin said. "I always wondered why he would dare attack the city he treasured as the heart of Albion and breathe fire at you _and_ I when he was the one who told me about our destiny in the first place and used his wisdom to help fight _with_ me to make our destiny a reality…He _knew_ that his actions would force Balinor and I together…that he would die and that I would take his title. And that Camelot would come out stronger for it."

"If you're right, dragon logic makes little sense to me."

Merlin chuckled. "Wait until you meet him—"

" _Meet him_?" Arthur yelped.

"Sure. Why not? He and Aithusa—"

Feeling a little ill at ease, Arthur put up a hand. "Magic first. Dragons later. I probably shouldn't have gotten on the topic of dragons at all. One step at a time."

Merlin looked as though there was a wisecrack at the tip of his tongue, but after one glower from Arthur, he, grinning impishly, bit it off. "Magic first then…"

It amazed Arthur at how comfortable they were saying the word to each other already.

"Should I start at the beginning, perhaps?"

"The beginning in Ealdor? Or when you moved to Camelot?"

"You seem to already know that I was born with magic, so I'm sure that we can save those—erm—stories for a later time."

_Embarrassing_ stories about experimenting with magic, Arthur was sure. Judging by the blush creeping up his cheeks and the tone of voice, that is. "Instinctive magic _and_ an insolent tongue? I bet you gave your mother a job raising you."

Merlin grinned sheepishly. "I probably wasn't any worse than a spoiled Prince."

"So, the beginning," Arthur prompted, ignoring Merlin's taunt with a roll of his eyes.

"Yes…the beginning…I tried to punch you."

"Not a very smart idea," he smirked.

Merlin shrugged, and with a smirk of his own, he said, "It was better that I stupidly landed myself in the cells and the stocks. I did warn you I could take you apart with less than one blow."

"Is _that_ what you meant?" Arthur laughed. "Good gods."

"I got severely scolded by Gaius for using magic against you in the mace-fight. I'll have you know."

Arthur's jaw dropped as he recalled his unfortunate, uncharacteristic clumsiness on that day, but then he said smugly, "I still beat you."

"Only because I wasn't trying," Merlin retorted. "All I wanted was to deflate your head a little, but if Gaius hadn't distracted me…"

Childishly, the King chanted, "Excuses get you no where in life, Merlin."

Merlin scowled, but there was no malice in it. "D'you remember what you said to me when you let me go?"

_He may be an idiot, but he's a brave one. There's something about you, Merlin. I can't quite put my finger on it._

It was about that time that Merlin first called him 'prat,' and it was the first time he called Merlin an idiot…and the first time he had ever felt a connection and an honest and powerful respect for the fool.

"Yes…" Arthur mused to himself.

"Not too long after that," Merlin said quietly, "I saved you with my magic for the first time."

A fond smile spread across the King's face as he remembered his shock when he found it to be _Merlin_ who pushed him out of the dagger's path and then his horror when his father appointed him as his manservant.

Even then Merlin was humble, insolent, trustworthy…

He had always felt he could trust Merlin, who became his truest friend...one who wasn't afraid of his title or of speaking his mind, one who wasn't afraid to fight alongside him.

Some things never change.

"The first time," Arthur echoed. "The other times?"

Eyes shining, Merlin said, "That'd take hours, and we—" his eyes rose over the top of Arthur's head to peer at the sun "—don't have hours."

"The little details can come in time," Arthur said. "Now's your time to brag, Merlin. Tell me your greatest accomplishments."

And with that, the Once and Future King was taken on a trip to the past as seen through the unusual eyes of his servant. He was a good storyteller, Arthur had to admit, and images of fire, lightning, smirking sorceresses, and beasts of nightmare were recreated before his eyes. Merlin's every emotion relived through him.

Nimueh—Merlin had killed her.

Cornelius Sigan and his animated gargoyles—Merlin had once again been offered power but had turned it down.

Two immortal armies—one of bones, which Morgana had falsely claimed to have stopped, and one of flesh and of the Cup of Life, which Merlin had emptied of blood with the very sword he held…

His sword's interesting history was told in full, and though Merlin seemed to avoid speaking much about this mysterious "Lady of the Lake," Arthur did not press. For now, it was enough, and it would soon be all revealed to him.

After speaking of his part in Morgause's slow death ( _another_ powerful foe that Merlin had slayed) and the Dorocha, a dark enough topic, Merlin, feeling the need to lighten the mood, referenced the numerous times that Arthur had fallen under love spells or that Camelot had been plagued by an assortment of strange creatures (goblins, pixies, and trolls, for example), and they shared plenty of laughter when Merlin found it fit to talk about his adventures as "Dragoon the Great" and when Arthur told him about his past few days dealing with Merlin's secret.

Once the pair knew they could hide away from the outside world no longer, Arthur clapped Merlin on the shoulder and said, "'Thank you' isn't enough, is it?"

"Arthur, that you've accepted me…It's already more than I could've hoped for."

"I have yet to make good of my promise," the Once and Future King reminded him.

"What promise?"

"Freedom from fear, but that…we have to talk about it. With everyone."

Merlin's eyes, glowing in his joy, hardened determinedly, and he said in the sagacious voice of the Emrys, "It is time. The shadows will have me no longer."

Gratitude and brotherly love shone from those multidimensional eyes of both wisdom and absolute goofiness, and Arthur regarded his incredible friend.

An equal. The young man who changed his very life. Standing by him, being the steady boulder, smiling in encouragement, frowning in disapproval, brave, loyal, selfless, and modest to a fault…

"I feel as though I know everything about you," Arthur said suddenly with a sweep of déjà vu rushing over him, "And yet nothing at all."

Merlin grinned his lopsided grin and held out a hand. "Perhaps we should start over then?"

Arthur looked at the hand extended in friendship, peace, and eagerness for the future, and with Merlin's insolent tones and laughter ringing in his ears, the sight of his eyes morphing from blue to gold, playful to powerful, playing before his eyes, and the memories…

"Why would I want that?" the King asked, ignoring the hand and wrapping one arm around Merlin's narrow shoulders. "I wouldn't have missed it for the world."


End file.
